THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 


•MY.  0T  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES' 


ALSO  BY  MR.  WALK 


THE  SILVER  BLADE :  THE  TRUE 
CHRONICLE  or  A  DOUBLE  MYSTERY. 
Five  illustrations  in  color  by  A.  B. 
WENZELL. 


A.  C.  McCLURQ  &  Co.,  Publisher! 
CHICAGO 


"  A  strange  man  whispered  in  Dolly's  ear,  .   .  .  then  thrust  a 
gold  bracelet  into  her  hand."  [Page  21] 


The 
Yellow  Circle 

By  CHARLES  EDMONDS  WALK 

Author  of  "  The  Silver  Blade,"  Etc. 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  WILL  GREF6 


= 


A.  L.   BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  McCtuao  &  Co. 

1909 
fctered  »t  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 

All  riff  hit  reserved 

Published,  September  18,  1909 
Second  Printing,  December  17,  1909 


TO 
THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER 

DAVID  WALK 


21335B2 


"  A  happy  lover  who  has  come 

To  look  on  her  that  loves  him  well, 
Who  'lights  and  rings  the  gateway  bett, 
And  learns  her  gone  and  far  from  home; 

"  He  saddens,  all  the  magic,  light 

Dies  off  at  once  from  bower  and  hall, 
And  all  the  place  is  dark,  and  all 
The  chambers  emptied  of  delight." 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    AN  INTERRUPTED  WEDDING 15 

II.   THE  UNBIDDEN  GUEST 24 

III.  THE  BRASS  RELIQUARY 35 

IV.  CULLIMORE 56 

V.   EPISODE  OF  THE  SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR      •  71 

VI.   THE  SCARRED  HAND 86 

VII.  Miss  GERVAISE  RECOLLECTS 92 

VIII.  A  MAGIC  REVELATION 106 

IX.  Miss  GERVAISE  TAKES  A  HAND  .  .  .  .  119 

X.  IN  THE  DEAD  OF  NIGHT 127 

XI.  PERSUASIVE  METHODS  OF  SARAH  KEMP  .  142 

XII.  THE  MARK  ON  THE  POST 154 

XIII.  COMPARING  NOTES 168 

XIV.  ON  THE  THRESHOLD 188 

XV.    ANOTHER  WARNING   ........  207 

XVI.   THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR 220 

XVII.   A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE  .     .    .  234 

XVIII.    TRAPPED       ...........  255 

XIX.    A  RESPONSE  TO  KELSEY'S  SIGNAL     .     .     .  274 

XX.    CULLIMORE'S  DEFECTION.     .=>....  289 

XXI.    WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  Our 301 

XXII.   A  MUTE  APPEAL 319 

XXIII.  MARIE  BARBIER 339 

XXIV.  DOWN! 362 

XXV.   AND  Our  376 


Illustrations 

PAGE 
"  A  strange  man  whispered  in  Dolly's  ear, .  .  .  then 

thrust  a  gold  bracelet  into  her  hand"  (Page  27)  Frontispiece 

"  Lecomte,  old  chap,  forgive  me,  but  we  had  better 

thresh  this  thing  out  together  "  (Page  40)    .     .     .     110 

"  Dorothy  took  a  chair  before  the  crystal "  (Page  110) .     222 

**  Edith  moved  her  clasped  hands  to  the  arm  of  his 

chair.    How  girlish  and  lovely  she  was  I "  (Page  175)     320 


List  of  Characters 

LECOMTE  GIBBS,  a  steel  magnate 

Miss  DOROTHY  DAY,  affianced  to  Mr.  Gibbs 

Miss  LETTTIA  LEONARD,  Miss  Day's  aunt 

FOSTER  COLE,  a  friend  to  Mr.  Gibbs 

Miss  EDITH  GERVAISE,  a  friend  to  Miss  Day 

SARAH  KEMP,  Miss  Day's  housekeeper 

CULLIMORE,  Mr.  Gibbs's  butler 

LEPORELLO,  a  seer 

MARIE  BARBIER,  a  maid 

PHINEAS  FLINT,  a  detective  officer 

JIM  SAVAGE,  a  rogue 

DAN  FOGARTY,  a  bartender 

KNOWLES  SWIFT,  inspector  of  detectives 

SPOTWOOD,  a  patrolman 

REECE  JONES,  a  country  youth 

I  of  the  detective  police 
SPENCER  I 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

CHAPTER   I 

AN   INTERRUPTED   WEDDING 

"T71OR  gracious'  sake,  girls,  silence!" 

•*•  •  A  countenance  reflecting  an  exagger- 
ated sense  of  its  owner's  importance,  together  with 
an  expression  of  stern  reprobation  for  the  dis- 
tracting confusion  in  the  vestry-room,  appeared 
for  a  moment  framed  in  the  doorway. 

"My!  I  never  in  all  my  born  days  heard 
such  a  racket!  "  went  on  the  speaker,  a  middle- 
aged,  stout  lady,  as  the  chatter  and  laughter 
abruptly  subsided.  "  Miss  Dupont  will  begin 
the  wedding-march  in  another  minute,  and  if 
you  don't  keep  quiet  in  here,  Miss  Day  and  the 
maids  will  never  be  able  to  hear  the  signal  — 
unless  it  should  be  fired  at  you  from  a  cannon." 

The  perturbed  face  vanished,  and  instantly 
the  fresh  young  girlish  voices  broke  forth  once 
more  with  renewed  vigor. 

"  What  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June?  "  the  poet 
pauses  in  the  midst  of  his  rhapsody  to  inquire. 

[15] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

Nothing,  unless  perchance  it  is  a  starlit  June 
night.  June!  that  happy  season  of  drooping, 
languorous  roses  and  of  brides,  when  the  very 
air  whispers  of  love  and  Nature's  pulse  throbs 
with  its  ecstasy,  when  the  perfume  of  love- 
madness  enters  like  wine  into  the  veins  of 
Youth,  whose  harshest  word  sinks  in  wooing 
cadences  to  a  caress.  Ah,  but  't  is  grand  and 
glorious  to  be  young  in  June! 

And  to-night  it  is  June,  the  very  heyday  of 
the  season's  splendor  of  love-inspiring  magic, 
and,  as  is  proper  in  June,  nuptial  lights  gleam 
from  the  stained-glass  windows  of  St.  Stephen- 
the-Martyr's.  Yet  there  is  a  sombre  tone  to 
their  radiance;  the  lights  do  not  flash  and 
coruscate  with  the  aggressiveness  and  abandon 
that  one  might  reasonably  expect  from  so  joy- 
ous an  occasion.  Rather,  they  shine  through 
the  high  Gothic  windows  with  precisely  the 
proper  degree  of  subdued  brilliancy  becoming 
in  an  edifice  so  dignified  and  imposing. 

For  be  it  known,  when  nuptial  lights  or  any 
other  sort  of  lights  gleamed  from  St.  Stephen- 
the-Martyr's,  one  must  look  for  an  assemblage 
of  the  ultra-fashionable  and  a  corresponding 

[16] 


AN   INTERRUPTED   WEDDING 

gathering  of  the  merely  idle  and  curious  —  who,, 
however,  remain  far  in  the  background  out  of 
the  way,  where  they  are  merely  an  indistinguish- 
able blur. 

All  the  wealth  and  fashion  of  Williamsburg 
are  gathered  here  to-night,  —  a  Tuesday,  it  may 
be  well  to  remember,  —  and  besides  there  are 
many  notables  from  afar,  from  New  York,  and 
Washington,  and  Philadelphia,  and  even  Lon- 
don. Now  and  then  in  the  midst  of  the  bril- 
liant throng  descending  from  shining  equipages 
around  at  the  church's  front,  one  might  be  fa- 
vored with  a  glimpse  of  ribbon  or  the  jewel  of 
an  order  adorning  the  bosom  of  some  eminent  in- 
dividual, designating  him  of  the  diplomatic  corps 
which  inhabits  the  Nation's  capital.  For  to- 
night Lecomte  Gibbs  is  to  marry  Dorothy  Day. 

But  the  most  of  us  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
idling  over  the  pages  of  our  own  particular 
Almanach  de  Gotha,  and  for  the  benefit  of 
such  it  might  not  be  amiss  to  record  that  the 
Lecomte  Gibbs  mentioned  was  no  other  than 
the  Lecomte  Gibbs  whose  name  is  inseparable 
from  the  country's  iron  and  steel  industry.  As 
for  Miss  Day,  she  was  preeminently  the  bright- 

2  [17] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

est  gem  in  Williamsburg's  social  diadem;  and, 
quite  appropriately,  the  ceremony  was  to  be 
celebrated  with  a  splendor  never  before  known 
in  the  community. 

At  such  a  time,  however,  the  first  interest 
remains  with  the  bride.  So  back  we  hark  to 
the  vestry-room,  where  she  alone  of  all  the  gay, 
animated  group  remains  tranquil  and  serene. 
A  little  color  added  to  the  pale  cheeks  might, 
perhaps,  be  desirable  —  but,  no ;  why  set  our- 
selves up  as  carping  critics  to  cavil  at  a  bride's 
unblemished  loveliness!  When  one  may  gaze 
upon  a  form  and  countenance  so  beautiful,  so 
gracious,  so  altogether  charming  and  lovely, 
should  not  one  humbly  gather  these  crumbs 
and  remain  thankful?  She  smiles,  and  lo!  it 
is  the  pure  white  light  of  her  heart  shining  for 
a  space  in  the  windows  of  her  eyes.  They  are 
fine  eyes,  a  wonderful  blue,  steady  in  the  ex- 
pression of  their  sincerity,  unwavering  always 
in  their  regard,  and  honest.  After  mature  re- 
flection, a  dash  of  color  in  the  pale  cheeks  would 
have  added  not  a  whit. 

At  eight  o'clock  precisely  the  first  notes  of 
the  wedding-march  reverberated  from  the  lofty 

[18] 


AN  INTERRUPTED   WEDDING 

groined  nave  and  rumbled  in  a  thunderous  dia- 
pason even  into  the  over-crowded  vestry-room. 
Miss  Day,  with  an  unstudied  deliberation  and 
grace  of  movement,  bent  her  blonde  head  and 
turned  to  bestow  the  inevitable  final  look  and 
pat  to  her  train,  when  the  pretty,  vivacious, 
brown-eyed  girl  adjusting  the  bridal- veil  was 
of  a  sudden  thrust  rudely  aside,  and  a  strange, 
shabby  man  was  standing  beside  the  bride.  It 
had  required  but  a  second  for  him  to  elbow  his 
way  through  the  accompanying  bodyguard  of 
bridesmaids,  to  thrust  some  article  into  the 
bride's  hand  and  whisper  some  words  into  her 
ear,  and  then  depart  as  unceremoniously  as  he 
had  appeared. 

Miss  Day  scarcely  had  time  to  be  startled 
before  the  man  was  gone.  Then  she  went  white 
to  the  lips,  stared  horror-stricken  an  instant  at 
the  thing  in  her  hand,  which  at  once  she 
clutched  convulsively  to  her  bosom;  next  she 
muttered  some  words,  unintelligible  to  the 
amazed  bridesmaids,  and,  after  tossing  her  train 
over  one  arm,  hastened  from  the  vestry-room 
and  away. 

A  glimpse  of  the  ribbons  fluttering  from  her 

[19] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

muff  of  bridal  roses  was  the  last  seen  of  Miss 
Dorothy  Day  by  her  attendants  at  the  church. 

When  the  astonished  bevy  of  girls  recovered 
themselves  there  was  a  tremendous  flurry  be- 
hind the  scenes.  Word  was  carried  to  the 
bridegroom,  waiting  in  the  rector's  study,  and 
he  was  —  after  the  first  shock  of  amazed,  stun- 
ning incredulity  —  more  perplexed,  if  possible, 
than  anybody  else.  There  followed  a  period  of 
anxious  waiting,  on  the  hope  that  Miss  Day 
would  immediately  return.  But  one  cannot 
wait  long  at  such  a  time;  weddings  and  funerals 
must  not  be  marred  by  any  hitch;  they  must 
proceed  in  an  orderly,  dignified  manner;  and 
when  the  bride  chooses  to  absent  herself  just 
as  the  wedding-march  begins,  the  other  parti- 
cipants in  the  affair  may  be  pardoned  if  they 
lose  their  heads. 

Indeed,  what  could  they  do?  A  hurried 
search  about  the  church  premises  revealed  noth- 
ing whatever.  And  then,  what  explanation 
could  be  offered  to  the  expectant  guests? 

None  that  was  more  satisfactory  than  any 
other.  The  notes  from  the  great  pipe-organ 
roll  sonorously  on,  the  minutes  pass,  and  neither 

[M] 


AN  INTERRUPTED   WEDDING 

bride  nor  groom  appears.  The  slightest  delay 
at  such  a  moment  is  significant;  prolong  the 
delay,  and  surmises  become  certainties.  But 
when  at  last  the  vested  rector,  pale  but  com- 
posed, appeared  to  utter  some  indefinite  words 
that  had  to  do  with  "  a  sudden  indisposition  of 
the  bride,"  the  guests  arose  and  went  quietly 
away. 

For  it  was  a  well-bred  throng,  and  held  its 
curiosity  in  check  until  hastened  opportunity 
disposed  its  component  parts  into  groups  and 
duos  of  intimates;  then,  to  be  sure,  there  was 
a  clattering  of  tongues,  a  buzzing  of  telephones, 
and  a  scurrying  from  house  to  house  that  had 
about  it  something  surreptitious  and  clandestine. 
It  is  upon  such  occasions  that  one  is  afforded 
a  striking  example  of  the  facility  with  which 
mere  spoken  words,  the  lifting  of  an  eyebrow, 
the  glance  of  an  eye,  or  the  eloquence  of  an 
elevated  shoulder  may  become  cruelty  refined 
to  its  ultimate  degree. 

When  it  became  certain  that  the  bride  was 
actually  gone,  Mr.  Gibbs,  a  proud,  sensitive 
man,  was  well-nigh  prostrated.  He  was  incap- 
able of  lending  any  aid  —  not  that  suggestions 

[21] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

were  of  the  least  value  coining  from  any  source 
—  and  the  search  was  taken  out  of  his  hands. 
At  last  the  party  were  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  sole  remaining  expedient  —  the  police. 

People  of  the  class  in  which  Miss  Day  and 
Mr.  Gibbs  moved  usually  shun  police  interfer- 
ence into  their  affairs  as  they  would  a  pesti- 
lence. Indeed,  are  not  the  police  the  bulwark 
of  their  organization,  the  impregnable  wall  that 
stands  between  them  and  that  dreadful  mon- 
ster, Crime,  which  haunts  Society's  frayed 
edges  like  a  starving  wolf  skirting  the  sheep- 
fold  at  dusk?  A  certain  amount  of  intermin- 
gling between  the  monster  and  the  police  is,  no 
doubt,  necessary;  but  recognition  of  the  guar- 
dian cordon  from  the  other  side  is  usually  lim- 
ited to  the  payment  —  or  evasion  —  of  taxes. 

But  there  was  nothing  else  for  it  in  the 
present  case.  The  police  must  be  called  in; 
purse-strings  must  be  shaken  out  with  no  cal- 
culating hand,  to  the  end  that  secrecy  be  main- 
tained at  all  hazards,  and  the  bride  be  imme- 
diately discovered  and  returned  to  the  chagrined 
bridegroom. 

And  it  is  due  Mr.  Gibbs  here  to  state  that, 

[22] 


AN  INTERRUPTED   WEDDING 

overwhelmed  as  he  was  with  mortification  and 
extreme  mental  distress,  he  never  for  an  instant 
betrayed  any  feeling  nor  uttered  any  word  that 
might  be  twisted  into  censure  of  the  fugitive 
bride.  While  professing  an  utter  inability  even 
to  surmise  a  possible  reason  for  her  astonishing 
conduct,  his  attitude  toward  her  remained  one 
of  unbroken  loyalty  and  faith  in  her  fidelity; 
and  he  reiterated  again  and  again  that  she 
would  return  to  clear  up  the  mystery  in  a 
manner  that  would  be  satisfactory  to  all  con- 
cerned. Only  two  other  persons  were  one-half 
so  sanguine. 


[23] 


CHAPTER   II 

THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

WHEN  the  plain-clothes  man  arrived  at  St. 
Stephen-the-Martyr's  it  was  close  to  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  found  the  church 
deserted,  save  for  Dr.  Floyd,  the  rector,  Mr. 
Gibbs,  a  Miss  Edith  Gervaise,  the  honor-maid, 
and  perhaps  Miss  Day's  closest  friend,  and  a 
young  man  of  the  name  of  Foster  Cole,  who 
was  to  have  been  the  best  man. 

The  newcomer  paused  on  the  threshold  of 
the  .rector's  study  and  announced  his  identity 
to  the  group  within.  They  presented  a  huddled 
appearance  as  they  stared  at  him  in  tragic 
silence;  but  the  stranger  bestowed  upon  each 
merely  a  brief  glance,  lacking  any  special  in- 
terest until  it  rested  upon  Mr.  Gibbs.  Then 
the  man  bowed  and  said  respectfully,  "  Flint 
—  from  police  headquarters." 

It  was  Foster  Cole,  who  seemed  inexpressi- 
bly bored  by  the  whole  affair,  who  invited 
him  in. 

[24] 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

Mr.  Flint,  however,  had  recognized  the  steel 
magnate,  and  when  he  again  spoke  it  was  to 
the  central  figure  of  the  little  company. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did  n't  send  for  us  at  first, 
Mr.  Gibbs,"  he  now  said,  with  a  plural  refer- 
ence to  himself  which  caused  Cole  to  dart  a 
startled  glance  into  the  corridor  behind  him,  as 
if  he  half  expected  to  behold  the  whole  police 
department  marshalled  there.  But  the  corridor 
was  merely  dark.  "  More  than  four  hours  have 
been  wasted,"  proceeded  Mr.  Flint,  "  and  time 
is  of  prime  importance  in  a  case  of  this  kind." 

"  Just  what  kind? "  complained  Mr.  Cole. 
"  Anyhow,  why  should  we  consider  it  a  case  for 
the  police  at  all? " 

Flint  turned  to  him  a  dull  look.  The  detec- 
tive was  a  slender,  unassuming  man,  gray  as 
a  badger,  and  with  a  smooth-shaven  face  that 
was  like  tooled  leather.  He  possessed  a  certain 
shrewd  look  about  the  eyes,  and  he  was  quite 
at  his  ease  amid  surroundings  with  which,  very 
likely,  he  was  not  at  all  familiar. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  yet,"  Flint  quietly 
returned  to  Foster  Cole's  question ;  "  I  daresay 
there  will  be  no  need  for  my  services  after  you 

[25] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

have  had  time  calmly  to  consider  the  matter. 
Just  what  do  you  know  about  it,  sir?  " 

Mr.  Cole  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned 
to  Miss  Gervaise.  Thus  directed,  Mr.  Flint's 
eyes  also  rested  upon  the  young  lady,  who,  it  ap- 
peared, tarried  at  the  church  because  she  had 
witnessed  more  of  the  episode  of  the  intruder 
than  had  any  one  else.  Impelled  by  the  con- 
centrated attention,  Miss  Gervaise  spoke. 

"  We  had  just  received  the  signal,  when  the 
girls  in  the  vestry-room  subsided  from  a  chat- 
tering, laughing  group  thronging  about  Miss 
Day,  to  one  showing  some  regard  for  silence 
and  order.  There  was  a  scramble  for  places 
as  the  bridesmaids  separated  from  the  attendant 
crowd  of  Miss  Day's  friends,  and  it  was  at  the 
height  of  the  confusion  that  I  felt  a  heavy  hand 
on  my  shoulder." 

The  speaker  was  evidently  gifted  with  an 
active  imagination;  for,  as  she  continued,  she 
spoke  with  increasing  animation,  her  eyes 
sparkled,  the  color  grew  in  her  cheeks;  she 
portrayed  the  scene  vividly,  at  times  even 
dramatically. 

"  I   was   at   once  rudely   thrust   aside,"    she 

[26] 


pursued,  "  and  next  instant  amazed  to  see  a 
strange  man  whispering  in  Dolly's  ear.  He 
spoke  no  more  than  half  a  dozen  words  or  so, 
then  thrust  a  gold  bracelet  into  her  hand  and 
hurried  away." 

"  A  gold  bracelet !  "  exclaimed  Flint. 

The  company  were  now  watching  him  with 
a  most  intense  interest,  as  if  they  believed  an 
interpretation  of  this  circumstance  would  at 
once  solve  the  riddle.  It  was  manifest  that  it 
had  afforded  a  more  fruitful  theme  for  specu- 
lation than  any  other  feature  of  the  episode. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Gervaise,  earnestly,  "  it 
looked  more  like  a  bracelet  than  anything  else; 
yet,  it  was  very  thin,  the  opening  was  rough  — 
without  a  clasp  —  as  if  it  once  had  been  a  cir- 
clet, hurriedly  cut  or  broken  to  release  it  from 
something  it  had  bound.  It  was  of  dull  or 
Roman  gold,  perhaps  an  inch  broad,  and  I  am 
sure  held  an  inscription.  I  was,  of  course,  un- 
able to  read  it,  but  the  engraving  was  not 
merely  ornamental." 

If  Mr.  Flint  made  anything  of  the  bracelet 
he  kept  the  result  to  himself,  much  to  the  dis- 
appointment of  the  others. 

[27] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"Can  you  describe  the  man's  appearance?" 
he  next  wanted  to  know. 

"  He  was  a  rough,  uncouth  person,  clad  in 
a  shabby,  dark  business  suit;  still,  there  was 
something  in  the  way  he  carried  himself  that 
made  me  think  of  a  soldier.  He  wore  a  soft 
black  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  so  that  I 
could  get  no  clear  impression  of  his  features." 

Dr.  Floyd  interrupted. 

"  Er  —  Miss  Gervaise,  are  you  sure  —  quite 
sure  —  your  description  is  not  —  er  —  colored 
by  prejudice? "  he  mildly  inquired. 

There  was  no  doubting  the  young  lady's  as- 
surance on  this  point. 

"  Oh,  no  —  no  —  no!  "  she  cried,  with  a  shud- 
der. "  His  manner  was  that  of  a  ruffian,  and 
for  a  moment  the  girls  were  too  frightened 
to  stir.  I  myself  was  simply  paralyzed  with 
fright  until  Dolly  had  been  gone  for  some 
moments."  Abruptly  she  turned  again  to 
Flint. 

"  One  detail  of  the  man's  appearance  is  very 
vivid  in  my  mind,"  said  she;  "before  handing 
the  gilt  band  to  Dolly  he  transferred  it  from 
his  right  hand  to  his  left,  but  not  before  I  saw 

[28] 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

that  the  back  of  his  right  hand  was  disfigured 
by  a  long  white  scar." 

"  Miss  Gervaise  thinks  she  has  seen  the  —  er 
—  man  before,"  the  rector  again  interposed. 

The  detective  was  regarding  her  through 
narrowed  lids. 

Miss  Edith  Gervaise  was  an  exceptionally 
pretty  girl,  with  fine  brown  eyes  and  a  viva- 
cious manner  which  now  fairly  sparkled  with 
excitement.  Yet  she  was  self-possessed  enough 
to  be  keenly  alive  to  every  detail  of  the  in- 
vestigation. Occasionally  she  would  glance  at 
Foster  Cole,  whose  nonchalant  air  seemed  to 
exert  a  quieting  influence  over  her.  Appar- 
ently his  sole  interest  in  the  affair  was  limited 
to  the  effect  it  produced  upon  her. 

"  That  is  true  "  —  promptly  confirming  the 
rector's  words;  "but  I  can't  remember  where 
or  when.  He  must  be  some  familiar  character 
about  town  whom  I  have  encountered  occasion- 
ally on  the  streets.  The  recollection  is  just  one 
of  those  dim,  hazy  memories  that  one  has  when 
suddenly  confronted  with  a  person  that  one  has 
simply  seen  before." 

'  What  was  Miss  Day's  demeanor? " 

[29] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  She  was  not  aware  of  the  man  until  his 
face  was  close  to  her  ear;  then  she  recoiled, 
startled.  But  something  in  his  words  must 
have  riveted  her  attention,  for  at  once  she 
stared  at  him  in  utter  horror,  and  stood  like 
a  creature  suddenly  stricken  lifeless,  even  after 
lie  was  gone.  We  were  all  too  dumbfounded 
to  move  or  utter  a  sound.  Anyhow,  the  entire 
episode  was  over  in  two  or  three  seconds. 
Dorothy  abruptly  muttered  something  inarticu- 
late and  every  vestige  of  color  left  her  face.  I 
was  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  shock  of 
the  man's  whispered  message,  or  some  signifi- 
cance in  the  bracelet,  made  her  really  uncon- 
scious of  what  she  was  saying  or  doing.  She 
glanced  at  the  golden  trinket;  then,  gathering 
up  her  skirts,  fled  down  the  corridor  —  " 

"  Pardon  me,  please,"  broke  in  Mr.  Flint, 
"  how  do  you  know  in  which  direction  she  ran  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  she  had  turned  the  other  way,  it 
would  have  led  her  to  the  sexton's  room,  and 
through  it  into  the  auditorium;  she  was  obliged 
to  turn  to  her  right  in  order  to  leave  the  building 
without  passing  before  the  very  eyes  of  the 
guests.  Of  course,  she  did  not  do  that." 

[30] 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

Mr.  Flint  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"  So  you  did  n't  see  Miss  Day  after  she 
passed  through  the  vestry-room  door?  —  you 
really  did  n't  see  her  running  down  the  cor- 
ridor? " 

"  No,"  admitted  Miss  Gervaise. 

"  Then,  whatever  emotions  the  mysterious 
stranger  may  have  excited  in  the  young  lady, 
fear  of  him  was  not  one  of  them,"  said  Flint, 
with  conviction. 

"  By  what  process  of  reasoning  do  you  reach 
that  conclusion?  "  Mr.  Cole  demanded. 

'Think  a  moment,"  the  other  replied:  "you 
know  that  the  side  door  offered  the  only  avail- 
able method  of  leaving  the  church;  the  man  had 
just  departed  a  second  or  two  before;  still, 
Miss  Day  did  n't  hesitate  to  run  after  him. 
Under  the  circumstances  she  must  have  over- 
taken him  by  the  time  he  reached  the  outside 
door." 

Mr.  Cole  and  Miss  Gervaise  stared  at  each 
other,  digesting  this  unexpected  turn,  until 
prompted  by  the  detective. 

"But  go  on,  please,"  said  he;  "tell  what 
else  you  know." 

[31] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

"  Nothing,"  returned  the  young  lady.  "  I 
followed  quite  closely  after  Dolly  —  as  soon 
as  I  recovered  myself  —  but  saw  nothing. 
The  door  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  opens 
upon  the  rectory  yard,  you  know;  it  was 
standing  open.  No  one  was  in  sight  when  I 
arrived  there;  I  heard  no  sound,  except  from 
the  organ  inside  the  church  and  the  carriages 
around  at  the  front." 

Whichever  direction  Miss  Day  had  fled, 
it  certainly  had  not  been  toward  the  front; 
it  would  have  been  impossible  that  her  figure, 
in  its  shimmering  white  wedding-gown,  could 
escape  notice.  Besides,  she  had  carried  a  large 
bouquet  of  bridal  roses  and  her  golden  hair  had 
been  crowned  with  a  wreath  of  orange  blossoms. 

The  alternative  direction  lay  toward  an  al- 
ley traversing  the  rear  of  both  the  church 
and  rectory  premises. 

Hence,  it  would  seem,  that  the  instant 
after  the  bride-elect  stepped  from  the  vestry- 
room  she  had  vanished  into  thin  air;  this  was 
the  stage  at  which  the  consultation  ended. 
Neither  Miss  Gervaise  nor  any  of  the  others 
could  tell  more  concerning  the  mystery;  un- 

[32] 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

less  it  should  be  Mr.  Gibbs  himself,  who,  so 
far,  had  not  uttered  a  word,  although  he  had 
followed  the  talk  of  the  others  with  an  almost 
painful  eagerness  of  concentration. 

Flint,  however,  did  not  seem  to  think  it  worth 
while  to  question  the  discomfited  magnate.  He 
presently  took  his  leave,  after  skilfully  evad- 
ing their  anxious  interrogations,  and  the  party 
at  once  broke  up  —  Dr.  Floyd  and  Lecomte 
Gibbs  departing  on  foot,  while  Foster  Cole  es- 
corted Miss  Gervaise  to  a  waiting  cab.  As  he 
handed  her  in,  Gibbs  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"Hurry  back,"  he  whispered;  "I  shall  be 
waiting  at  the  house." 

Cole  nodded  and  pressed  his  friend's  hand, 
adding  in  an  undertone: 

"  Don't  expect  too  much  from  that  detective. 
This  is  a  little  out  of  his  line.  We  '11  have  to 
work  it  out  together,  my  dear  fellow,  and  I 
fancy  we  can  do  it  successfully." 

When  Mr.  Flint  returned  to  headquarters 
the  night-sergeant,  shifting  an  unlighted  cigar 
from  one  side  of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  ele- 
vated an  eyebrow  until  it  assumed  the  impor- 

3  [33] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

tance  and  force  of  an  interrogation  mark.  Then, 
briefly,  Flint  recounted  the  result  of  his  expe- 
dition; the  night-sergeant  grinned. 

"  Pretty  damn  tough  on  Gibbs,"  was  his  com- 
ment. "  Any  hint  of  the  other  fellow  in  the 
background? " 

Mr.  Flint  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

'  The  real  solution  has  n't  occurred  to  'em 
yet.  I  did  n't  tell  'em  —  what 's  the  use?  Gibbs 
is  a  pretty  decent  fellow,  and  I  hate  to  see 
him  thrown  down  this  way;  but  if  he  wants 
to  get  married  he  will  have  to  pick  another 
bride;  a  younger  —  if  not  a  richer  —  man  has 
beat  it  with  his  first  choice." 

The  night-sergeant  laughed  a  wheezy  laugh 
(for  he  was  fat  and  asthmatic),  and  wanted 
to  know  if  Miss  Day  was  "  a  good-looker." 

To  this  phase  of  the  problem  Mr.  Flint 
merely  turned  his  back,  not  deigning  an  answer. 

'  Them  money -bugs  all  are  —  to  me,"  re- 
marked the  unabashed  sergeant.  "  Gimme  a 
match." 

Thus,  for  the  time  being,  was  the  matter 
disposed  of  by  the  police. 


[34] 


CHAPTER    III 

THE   BRASS   RELIQUARY 

THERE  is  such  a  thing,  however,  as  even  the 
police  jumping  at  conclusions  with  a  cock- 
sureness  destined  later  to  bring  forth  "  revised  " 
and  "  modified "  statements.  In  the  present 
instance,  to  cite  an  example,  Mr.  Flint  was 
wrong  in  concluding  that  the  obvious  explana- 
tion of  Miss  Day's  evanishment  had  not  oc- 
curred to  the  party  he  had  so  recently  left; 
for  it  had,  but  in  a  light  that  made  them 
shudder. 

Sure  knowledge  of  their  intimate  friend,  a 
sense  of  loyalty  and  obligation  imposed  by  their 
breeding,  caused  their  faith  in  one  of  their 
number  to  remain  secure,  even  if  somewhat 
shaken.  It  is  not  the  loyalty  that  never  mis- 
trusts that  is  most  to  be  desired  in  our  friends, 
but  the  belief  in  us  which,  though  assailed  by 
doubts  and  uncertainties,  can  yet  remain  stead- 
fast, firm  in  the  faith  we  have  inspired. 

[35] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

The  phase  of  the  affair  from  which  Miss 
Day's  friends  shrank  may  be  found  in  the  prob- 
ability that  the  rest  of  the  world  would  not  be 
so  reluctant  to  advance  opinions,  and  expatiate 
upon  them  ad  nauseam;  one  and  all,  therefore, 
they  closed  their  eyes  to  the  promised  publicity, 
and  turned  away  their  ears  from  the  voice  of 
scandal.  The  incursion  of  the  police  into  their 
well-ordered  concerns  was  bad  enough;  that 
false  impressions  and  unlicensed  gossip  were 
sure  to  follow  was  infinitely  worse. 

During  the  ride  to  the  Gervaise  home  very 
little  was  said  by  either  of  the  carriage  occu- 
pants. The  events  of  the  night  were,  of  course, 
foremost  in  the  minds  of  both,  though  they 
contemplated  the  matter  from  different  points 
of  view. 

Miss  Day  was  a  particular  friend  of  Miss 
Gervaise,  while  Foster  Cole  and  Lecomte 
Gibbs  presented  to  the  world  that  degree  of 
intimacy  characterized  as  "  chummy."  They 
belonged  to  the  same  inner  circle  of  the  same 
fashionable  set;  they  frequented  the  same  clubs, 
hunted  together  from  time  to  time  in  Montana 
-or  on  the  Chesapeake,  and  side  by  side  yearly 


THE   BRASS   RELIQUARY 

whipped  the  same  Canadian  streams.  The  steel 
magnate  was  considerably  older  than  Cole,  but 
this  made  not  the  least  difference  in  their  at- 
tachment; of  the  two  the  younger  man  was 
perhaps  the  more  sophisticated. 

The  ride  was  soon  accomplished. 

"  I  can  talk  no  more  to-night,"  Miss  Ger- 
vaise  announced  from  the  doorway;  "come 
around  in  the  morning  —  early." 

After  the  briefest  of  good-nights,  Cole  di- 
rected the  driver  to  hasten  to  the  new  residence 
of  Lecomte  Gibbs. 

In  all  of  Williamsburg,  a  city  noted  for  the 
magnificence  of  its  palaces,  there  was  no  hand- 
somer mansion  than  the  one  the  millionaire  had 
fitted  up  for  his  bride.  As  the  cab  stopped  at 
the  curb  Cole  looked  up  with  a  little  start;  in 
the  dim  figure  that  detached  itself  from  a 
tree-shadow  the  young  man  recognized  his 
friend. 

"  I  did  n't  care  to  go  inside  until  you  came," 
said  Gibbs,  simply;  by  which  Cole  understood 
that  he  lacked  the  courage  to  do  so. 

And,  indeed,  there  was  something  infinitely 
pathetic  in  the  contrast  between  the  reality  of 

[37] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

his  entrance  into  this  abode  of  elegance  and 
what  his  rose-colored  fancy  must  have  painted 
it  some  hours  earlier  in  the  night.  The  great 
pile  of  masonry,  of  gleaming  marble  and  plate- 
glass,  was  at  this  hour  and  in  the  present  cir- 
cumstances the  hollowest  mockery  of  a  home; 
and  Foster  Cole  could  not  help  seeing  the  droop 
to  his  friend's  shoulders,  nor  his  ears  fail  to 
catch  the  sigh  with  which  he  was  ushered  into 
the  rich  hall. 

However,  as  they  paused  before  entering, 
Cole  tapped  with  the  toe  of  one  shoe  some 
yellow  chalk  markings  which  appeared  on  the 
top  step. 

:<  What 's  this?  "  he  asked  curiously. 

Gibbs  glanced  down  indifferently  at  the  spot 
indicated. 

"  Don't  know.  Some  boys  —  "  he  vaguely 
muttered,  plainly  too  preoccupied  to  heed,  and 
passed  on. 

Cole,  though,  regarded  the  design  as  a  bit 
too  intricate,  it  was  in  too  unlikely  a  spot,  to 
be  attributed  to  any  possible  boyish  prank.  A 
circle  enclosed  the  letters  and  figures  "  Kt 
c-32  c."  suggesting  strongly  to  the  young 

[38] 


THE   BRASS   RELIQUARY 

man's  mind  a  cabalistic  symbol,  and  appearing 
thus: 


But  he  puzzled  over  the  matter  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, for  at  once  he  followed  Gibbs  into  the  house. 

Cole  was  perhaps  as  familiar  with  the  house's 
interior  as  was  the  master  thereof  himself;  he 
had  been  consulted  at  each  stage  of  the  build- 
ing's progress;  and  now  he  went  directly  to  a 
luxurious  apartment  called  —  in  deference  to 
the  prevailing  fad  in  such  things  —  "  the  den." 

How  many  cosey  hours  were  to  have  been 
spent  in  this  room,  every  detail  of  whose  fur- 
nishings was  a  direct  inspiration  of  love!  And 
now,  how  all  the  bright-hued  dreams  had  been 
shattered  by  the  hideous  nightmare  that  had 
usurped  their  place! 

So  Foster  Cole  reflected,  vaguely,  though  he 
summarized  the  sentiments  thus  evoked  in  one 
muttered  expletive,  —  expressive,  if  inelegant, 
—  "Rotten!" 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

The  two  men  sat  for  a  long  time  silent,  as 
only  two  sympathetic  masculine  natures  can  in 
the  face  of  a  great  crisis  affecting  the  welfare 
of  either.  Mr.  Gibbs's  attitude  was  one  of  utter 
dejection,  while  Cole  scowled  into  vacancy. 

By  and  by  the  young  fellow  began  to  betray 
some  signs  of  doubt  and  uncertainty;  he  shot 
quick  glances  at  his  motionless  companion,  as 
if  anxious  to  unburden  his  mind  of  some  dis- 
turbing factor,  and,  furthermore,  as  if  he  were 
unable  to  hit  upon  the  best  means  of  doing  so. 
After  a  while,  however,  he  spoke. 

"  Lecomte,  the  road  that  detective  chap  will 
follow  to  clear  up  this  mystery  is  pretty  plain." 

Gibbs  started  from  his  revery. 

'  You  think  he  will  find  her? "  came  eagerly 
from  him. 

Cole  stirred  uneasily,  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  he,  with  a  certain  air  of 
restraint;  "I  sincerely  hope  so.  But  that  is 
not  what  I  meant,  exactly."  He  hesitated. 

"  Lecomte,  old  chap,  forgive  me,  but  we 
had  better  thresh  this  thing  out  together;  it's 
better  to  consider  every  aspect  of  the  matter 
than  to  have  people  shocking  you  with  some 

[40] 


THE   BRASS  RELIQUARY 

fool  suggestion  every  time  you  turn  around. 
People  are  such  blamed  idiots  in  a  matter  of 
this  kind,  you  know." 

"Out  with  it;  what  road  do  you  think  the 
detective  will  follow? " 

'  Well,  he  '11  go  to  burrowing  into  Dorothy's 
past;  and,  Lecomte,  just  between  us,  don't 
you  know  —  that 's  where  we  must  look  for  an 
explanation." 

Lecomte  Gibbs's  refined  countenance  was 
deeply  lined  with  worry.  Yet  it  was  clear  that 
something  in  his  friend's  halting  speech  —  so 
utterly  foreign  to  the  young  man's  habitual 
ease  of  manner  —  and  the  unmistakable  note 
of  seriousness  that  lay  behind  it,  excited  an  un- 
wonted apprehension  in  his  mind.  He  looked 
at  Cole  with  a  curious  expression,  which  the 
latter  was  at  a  loss  to  fathom. 

'"Her  past'!"  echoed  Gibbs.  "What  do 
you  mean?  For  Heaven's  sake,  speak  out! 
My  sensibilities  cannot  be  further  shocked,  any- 
way. What  do  you  mean  by  '  her  past '  ?  " 

'  Why  —  er  —  this  —  I  will  put  it  in  this 
way:  some  cause  exists  for  her  having  vanished 
so  inexplicably;  it  is  self-evident  that  the  cause 

[41] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

was  extraordinarily  powerful  to  drag  a  woman 
like  Dorothy  Day  —  without  the  least  resist- 
ance on  her  part,  either  —  from  the  very  side 
of  the  man  she  is  about  to  marry.  Now,  a  cause 
so  potent  could  not  have  originated  to-night;  it 
could  not  be  the  creature  of  an  hour  or  a  day. 
Moreover,  such  a  compelling  influence  could  not 
come  into  her  life  at  any  time  entirely  without 
the  knowledge  of  her  friends  and  relatives." 

Gibbs  pondered  the  force  of  this  reasoning; 
it  presented  a  quite  simple  demonstration  in 
logic,  and  he  could  offer  nothing  to  refute  it. 

'What  a  damnable  state  of  affairs!"  he 
presently  burst  forth;  and  then,  more  calmly: 
"  And  you,  Foster,  what  do  you  think  of  this 
road?  Do  you  —  " 

Cole's  head  was  shaking  such  a  vigorous 
negative  that  the  other  did  not  proceed. 

''That's  all  tommyrot,  old  man;  nobody 
knows  better  than  I  do  that  Dolly  loves  you. 
We  all  know  it.  If  you  want  to  bring  Edith's 
wrath  down  upon  your  head,  why,  you  just 
hint  to  her  that  Dorothy  Day  cares  the  snap 
of  her  fingers  for  any  other  man  alive.  Non- 
sense! Rot!" 


THE  BRASS  RELIQUARY 

Gibbs  sighed  and  leaned  back  in  his  easy- 
chair;  it  was  plain  that  the  reassurance  of  his 
friend's  warmth  was  very  welcome. 

"But  what  can  it  all  mean!"  he  puzzled; 
"  what  else  could  impel  the  poor  girl  to  flee 
from  the  very  altar,  without  a  word  to  her 
friends  —  without  token  or  message  for  —  for 
—  me?  "  He  bowed  his  head. 

"  Don't  know,"  replied  Cole,  cheerfully  now, 
since  he  had  so  successfully  unburdened  his 
mind.  "  I  daresay  the  explanation  will  be  simple 
enough  when  it  comes.  Women  are  such  queer 
combinations  —  all  paradox,  you  know ;  fright- 
ened to  death  by  a  mouse,  but  cool  as  you 
please  with  a  lion.  Why,  the  same  woman  that 
could  face  death  without  a  quiver  would  scurry 
for  cover,  like  a  terrified  bird,  if  she  thought 
her  shirtwaist  was  unbuttoned  in  the  back." 

;<  What  the  deuce  do  you  know  about  such 
things?"  asked  Gibbs,  without  interest. 

Mr.  Cole  spread  out  his  hands  and  lifted 
his  brows.  Perhaps  the  gesture  meant  "  intui- 
tion " ;  he  did  n't  interpret  it.  Said  he : 

"  Now,  you  can  hold  tight  to  this :  after  the 
mystery  is  cleared  away  you  will  find  it  liing- 

[43] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ing  on  some  simple  little  thing  that  we,  being 
mere  men,  would  never  dream  of." 

"  No,"  Gibbs  promptly  contradicted.  "  Dor- 
othy 's  not  that  kind.  She  is  too  level-headed 
to  be  thrown  into  a  fright  by  a  shadow." 

Cole  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  he,  tolerantly,  "  she  is 
more  sensible  than  the  general  run  of  girls; 
she  'd  have  to  be,  or  Edith  would  never  have 
been  so  drawn  to  her.  Still,  Lecomte,  she 's 
a  -  If  he  was  about  to  add  "  woman,"  he 
abruptly  changed  his  mind;  squaring  himself 
in  his  chair,  he  resumed  immediately,  his  tone 
more  serious  and  direct. 

"  I  say,  this  is  not  getting  anywhere.  Let 's 
see  if  we  can't  really  light  upon  something  in 
Dorothy's  past  that  will  give  us  the  hint  we 
want.  Don't  squirm  that  way;  I  know  the  idea 
is  confoundedly  unpleasant;  but  such  things 
have  to  be  dealt  with  squarely.  There  are  no 
closed  passages  in  her  life,  are  there  ? " 

"  Good  Lord,  how  could  there  be ! "  in  an 
outburst  of  exasperation.  "  Do  you  want  to 
drive  me  crazy?" 

"  There,  there,  old  chap,"  returned  the  other, 

[44] 


THE  BRASS  RELIQUARY 

sympathetically.  "  It  could  not  be  anything 
serious,  I  am  positive  —  some  little  matter  of 
sentiment,  as  likely  as  not,  but  a  whole  moun- 
tain of  importance  to  her.  That  gold  brace- 
let affair,  no  telling  what  significance  it  may 
have." 

'  Well,  I  have  no  idea  of  any  such  thing." 

"  Let  me  see,"  pursued  the  younger  man, 
fixing  a  thoughtful  look  upon  an  ornamental 
Turkish  lamp  of  hammered  copper.  The  de- 
sign was  one  of  those  grotesque  conceptions,  in 
scroll  and  arabesque,  which  helps  so  splendidly 
when  one  wants  to  concentrate  the  mind.  "  Let 
me  see;  she  came  to  Williamsburg  while  I  was 
away  in  Cuba,  didn't  she?  —  from  out  West 
somewhere?  Just  assume,  Lecomte,  that  I 
have  never  heard  of  Miss  Dorothy  Day;  tell 
me  all  you  know  respecting  her." 

"  You  know  how  long  —  "  began  Gibbs;  and 
Cole  calmly  interrupted. 

"  But  I  don't.  Begin  at  the  beginning  and 
tell  me." 

"  Well,  Miss  Day  has  been  in  Williamsburg 
only  about  four  or  five  years,  and  on  the 
twelfth  of  this  month  she  will  be  twenty- four." 

[45] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Dorothy  was  never  finicky  about  her  age," 
murmured  Cole. 

"  She  came  originally  from  —  from  —  what 's 
that  California  town,"  Gibbs  proceeded  evenly, 
"  where  the  lateen  sails  make  it  look  like  a 
Southern  Mediterranean  port?" 

"Santa  Barbara?" 

"  It  was  n't  Santa  Barbara,  but  something 
like  it." 

"  How  illuminating.     Perhaps  it  was  —  " 

"  Santa  Cruz!  That 's  the  place.  Her  father 
was  interested  in  mining,  and  most  of  his  time 
was  spent  away  from  home.  He  must  have 
been  quite  successful,  for  he  left  her  a  pretty 
comfortable  fortune.  But,  hang  it  1  one  does  n't 
inquire  into  such  things." 

"  One  ought  to,"  was  the  young  man's  sen- 
tentious comment. 

"Anyhow,  he's  dead;  also  her  mother  — 
never  had  any  brothers  or  sisters.  At  least,  I 
never  heard  of  any." 

Cole  elevated  his  brows  when  he  compre- 
hended that  the  speaker  was  through. 

'  You  are  certainly  brief,"  he  remarked. 

"Brief?    The  devil!   what  did  you  expect?  — 

[46] 


THE   BRASS   RELIQUARY 

a  history  full  of  exciting  adventure?  There  is 
no  more  mystery  about  Dorothy  Day's  life  than 
you  could  find  in  the  life  of  almost  any  Wil- 
liamsburg  lady  I  might  name." 

One  corner  of  the  young  man's  mouth 
twitched,  but  Gibbs  did  not  observe  it. 

"  But  behind  the  four  or  five  years  she  has 
been  here  —  " 

"  I  never  inquired,"  curtly ;  "  she  was  a  mere 
girl  —  a  child  —  then." 

For  a  moment  Cole  speculated  upon  the  pos- 
sibilities involved  in  an  elderly  bachelor's  con- 
ception of  "  a  mere  girl."  Absently  he  sat 
tapping  the  upholstered  leather  arms  of  his 
chair,  the  while  he  counted  the  glass  ornaments 
on  the  Turkish  lamp-shade.  There  were  just 
fourteen  of  them  that  he  could  see  from  where 
he  sat,  and  they  simulated  rubies  of  a  large 
size  with  more  or  less  effectiveness. 

Well,  well,  Lecomte  was  a  chap  that  a  fellow 
could  n't  help  liking  immensely,  withal  he  was 
so  innocent.  Could  it  be  possible,  after  all, 
that  the  flight  of  the  bride-elect,  occurring  as  it 
did  before  instead  of  after  the  ceremony,  might 
be  regarded  as  a  lucky  stroke  of  fortune  for 

[47] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

his  friend?  The  thought  was  decidedly  unpala- 
table. 

Cole  lowered  his  voice. 

"  Steady  now,  but  we  want  to  get  to  the 
bottom  of  this  business,"  bending  upon  Gibbs 
a  level  look.  '  To  your  knowledge,  was  Miss 
Day  ever  before  engaged  in  a  serious  love 
affair?" 

Lecomte  Gibbs  frowned  and  tugged  ner- 
vously at  his  gray  military  moustache. 

:<  Why  the  deuce  do  you  ask  that? "  he 
bluntly  demanded. 

"  Don't  answer  it  if  you  don't  want  to ;  but 
you  had  better  be  prepared  for  a  good  deal  of 
speculation  along  that  line,  on  the  part  of  well- 
intentioned  but  misguided  — 

"Confound  it!"  Gibbs  suddenly  exploded, 
"  you  don't  think  my  affianced  wife  has  run  off 
with  somebody  else,  do  you?" 

"  Now  we  are  getting  to  the  point,"  re- 
sponded the  unmoved  young  man.  "  I  don't 
think  so ;  but  that  detective  —  Flint  —  does, 
and  so  will  everybody  else  five  minutes  after 
the  morning  papers  are  on  the  streets." 

The  harassed  gentleman  groaned.     He  made 

[48] 


THE   BRASS   RELIQUARY 

a  despairing,  impatient  gesture,  and,  rising 
abruptly,  began  to  pace  to  and  fro  the  length 
of  the  luxurious  apartment. 

'  You  are  right,"  he  presently  muttered,  his 
face  white  and  set.  "  Good  God,  what  a  mess ! 
What  a  stir  there  will  be!"  He  stopped 
short.  "  Foster,  I  honestly  believe  there  has 
never  been  another  love  affair.  My  faith  was. 
firm-rooted  in  the  assurance  that  she  loved 
me  "  —  his  voice  shook  with  emotion  —  "I  be- 
lieve it  yet." 

For  another  pause  the  young  man  was  silent;, 
his  fingers  ceased  their  noiseless  tattoo  on  the  fat, 
leather  chair-arms;  and  Gibbs  resumed  his  rest- 
less promenade.  After  a  while  Cole's  fingers 
commenced  moving  again,  and  he  asked  a  ques- 
tion which  caused  the  other  to  halt  with  a  jerk,, 
and  stare  at  him. 

"  Just  why  did  Dorothy  come  to  Williams- 
burg  in  the  first  place?"  was  the  question. 
And  after  an  appreciable  hiatus  Gibbs  re- 
sponded with  another  interrogation: 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

'  Well,  it  seems  odd,  don't  you  know,  any- 
body coming  all  the  way  from  California  and 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

deliberately  choosing  this  smoky  hole  to  live  in, 
when  there  is  such  a  place  as  New  York  — 
Heavens!  What  magnet  drew  her  to  this  city? 
—  what  ties  keep  her  here?" 

Gibbs  slowly  relaxed  from  his  strained  atti- 
tude ;  then : 

"  Blest  if  I  know! "  exclaimed  he;  "  the  ques- 
tion never  occurred  to  me." 

"  Humph!  You  see,  already  we  have  touched 
upon  a  circumstance  which  will  bear  a  little 
inspection.  Now  then  —  but  wait.  Did  not 
Dorothy  take  a  trip  to  Cuba  during  the 
war? " 

The  other  slowly  nodded  an  affirmative;  he 
was  busy  thinking  himself  now,  and  Cole 
went  on. 

"  Correct  me  if  I  don't  get  this  straight.  She 
came  here  originally  with  her  aunt,  the  timid, 
tender-hearted  little  Miss  Letitia,  and  that  old 
grenadier  of  a  housekeeper,  to  whom  she  is  so 
devoted  —  what 's  her  name?  " 

"  Miss  Kemp ;    Sarah  Kemp." 

"  After  a  few  weeks  of  cloisterlike  seclusion, 
during  which  Miss  Dorothy  Day  and  her  house- 
hold were  the  objects  of  much  curious  specu- 

[50] 


THE   BRASS  RELIQUARY 

lation  on  the  part  of  her  neighbors,  she  and  the 
grenadier  quite  suddenly  depart  from  the  city. 
More  speculation:  why  had  she  taken  the  grim 
housekeeper  and  left  behind  the  timid  little 
Dresden-china  aunt?  And,  anyhow,  where  and 
why  had  she  gone?  Am  I  correct?" 

"  Very  good,  so  far." 

;<  Well,  it  presently  became  noised  about  that 
the  oddly  sorted  pair  had  gone  —  to  Cuba. 
Speculation  now  at  fever-heat. 

"  And  no  wonder,"  Cole  continued,  with  an 
air  of  mild  astonishment.  "  Cervera's  fleet  had 
just  been  wiped  out,  and  Shafter  was  making 
it  hot  for  the  Dons  ashore;  not  just  the  time 
for  a  pleasure  journey  to  the  Pearl  of  the  An- 
tilles, eh? "  The  speaker  paused  and  his  eyes 
narrowed. 

'What  was  the  occasion  of  that  trip?"  he 
asked. 

Mr.  Gibbs  merely  shook  his  head;  old,  well- 
nigh  forgotten  topics  of  gossip  were  being 
stirred  in  a  way  that  made  it  plain  now  why 
the  incidents  specified  by  Cole  had  piqued  curi- 
osity. And  he  was  plainly  troubled.  Yet  no 
one  ever  really  knew  the  object  of  that  jour- 

[51] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ney,  nor  why  the  housekeeper  had  been  chosen 
as  a  companion  instead  of  the  aunt. 

For  a  time  the  younger  man  remained  deep  in 
reflection;  but  in  a  minute  or  two  he  continued. 

"If  my  memory  amounts  to  anything,  the 
pair  returned  in  three  or  four  weeks,  or  such 
a  matter;  and  it  was  not  long  thereafter  until 
Miss  Day  began  to  figure  in  this  precious  so- 
ciety of  ours  —  hm-m-m."  He  got  slowly  to 
his  feet. 

"  I  'm  off,"  said  he.  "  I  suppose  last  night 
was  pretty  hard  upon  the  aunt?" 

"Miss  Letitia?  Naturally.  No  use  bother- 
ing her;  she  is  completely  upset." 

"  Oh,  I  was  just  thinking  of  dropping  in 
on  her  later  — "  In  the  face  of  a  remark- 
able change  in  Gibbs's  expression  he  abruptly 
paused. 

:<  What  is  it? "  asked  he,  advancing  a  step 
under  the  stimulus  of  the  other's  peculiar 
conduct. 

Plainly  oblivious  of  his  friend's  last  words, 
the  magnate  was  staring  in  round-eyed  amaze- 
ment at  some  article  reposing  among  a  litter 
of  ornaments,  paper-weights,  and  bizarre  brie- 

[32] 


THE  BRASS  RELIQUARY 

<a-brac  on  the  wide-topped  writing-table.  Gibbs 
singled  out  an  object  with  a  trembling  finger. 

"  How  came  that  here? "  he  cried  hoarsely. 

Following  the  unsteady  guidance  of  the  lev- 
elled forefinger,  Cole  advanced  to  the  table,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  a  small,  hammered  brass  box, 
a  quaintly  ornamental  reliquary. 

"This?"  inquired  he. 

"Yes.  How  came  it  here?  It's  a  trinket 
I  picked  up  in  Rome  and  presented  to  Dorothy 
more  than  a  year  ago.  What 's  the  meaning 
of  this  mystery,  Foster?" 

The  lid  bore  a  tiny  figure  of  some  anonymous 
saint  with  hands  piously  pressed  together  over 
his  stomach;  Cole  lifted  it,  and  squinted  inside. 

At  first  he  was  merely  puzzled;  he  drew 
forth  a  narrow  strip  of  metal  —  gold,  appar- 
ently—  thin,  and  misshapen  from  having  been 
crowded  within  its  narrow  confines.  As,  won- 
deringly,  he  straightened  it  out,  a  sheet  of  paper 
fluttered  to  the  floor,  which  Gibbs  picked  up. 

Then  Cole's  wonder  grew;  gradually  the 
strip  of  dull  yellow  metal  began  to  assume  a 
significance  which,  in  a  measure,  he  compre- 
hended. 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

It  was  just  such  a  bracelet  or  gilt  band  as 
had  been  handed  to  Dorothy  by  the  mysterious 
scarred  stranger. 

But  a  strange,  unnatural  cry  from  Gibbs 
centred  his  attention  upon  the  sheet  of  paper 
at  which  the  magnate  was  staring  with  blank, 
unseeing  eyes.  Cole  glanced  at  it  and  beheld 
a  number  of  typewritten  words  which,  after  the 
first  wondering  look,  left  him  speechless  with 
amazement.  In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of 
the  paper  was  a  curiously  familiar  design,  a 
small  yellow  circle  surrounding  a  number  of 
letters  and  figures,  —  "  Kt.  B-118,"  —  close  be- 
neath which  was  the  curt  direction:  "  For 
Gibbs." 

But  it  was  the  text  of  the  message  that  held 
him  spellbound.  It  ran  thus: 

"  Do  not  try  to  discover  Miss  Day's  whereabouts  ;  she 
shall  return  unharmed  to  her  residence  one  week  from 
next  Wednesday  —  June  13  —  provided  you,  make  no 
effort  to  find  her.  Fail  to  heed  this  warning,  persist  in 
an  attempt  to  penetrate  the  secret  of  her  absence,  and 
she  shall  be  summarily  removed.  Beware!  " 

For  a  long  time  the  two  men  stared  dumbly 
at  each  other,  while  it  dawned  and  gradually 

[54] 


THE  BRASS  RELIQUARY 

grew  in  their  minds  that  they  were  face  to  face 
with  Mystery;    a  mystery  involving  tragedy. 

For  the  time  being  they  were  overwhelmed 
with  a  sense  of  helplessness,  a  disheartening 
conviction  of  weakness;  and  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  if,  during  those  first  minutes  of  stupe- 
faction, they  were  downcast  in  the  presence  of 
the  menacing  dangers  which  stirred  invisibly  all 
about  them,  for  they  were  ill-equipped  to  wage 
a  warfare  so  unequal. 


[55] 


CHAPTER   IV 

CTJLLIMORE 

IN  the  brass  reliquary  and  its  contents  Cole  was 
first  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  he  and  his 
friend  were  confronted  by  a  problem  at  once 
concrete  and  direct  in  the  brevity  of  the  first 
question  it  aroused  in  the  minds  of  both :  namely, 
how  came  an  article  of  bric-a-brac  belonging  to 
a  cabinet  in  Miss  Day's  drawing-room  to  be 
on  the  desk  in  Lecomte  Gibbs's  den? 

The  secondary  questions  which  followed  as  a 
matter  of  course  —  those  concerning  the  mo- 
tives governing  whoever  was  responsible  for 
the  transfer,  the  significance  of  the  gilt  band 
and  the  motive  which  inspired  the  typewritten 
warning  —  did  not  at  once  suggest  themselves ; 
the  first  was  astounding  enough,  whether  it 
meant  a  practical  joke  whose  object  was  not 
yet  apparent,  or  hid  a  meaning  deadly  serious 
in  its  import. 

The  thought  of  a  joke,  however,  was  not  to 
be  entertained  for  a  moment;  the  gilt  band, 

[56] 


CULLIMORE 

connecting  the  incident  as  it  did  directly  with 
Miss  Day's  disappearance,  provoked  the  most 
apprehensive  feelings  of  dread  and  anxiety; 
and  as  soon  as  the  two  men  recovered  some- 
what from  their  amazement,  they  at  once  set 
about  seeking  an  explanation. 

"  Singularly  enough,"  said  Gibbs,  "  I  can 
positively  assert  that  the  reliquary  was  in  Dor- 
othy's cabinet  as  late  as  two  o'clock  this  after- 
noon; or,  to  be  exact,  yesterday  afternoon.  I 
was  then  at  her  home,  and  for  a  minute  or  two 
we  paused  before  the  cabinet,  while  she  pointed 
to  a  number  of  articles  which  she  intended 
bringing  to  this  house  after  the  wedding.  The 
few  indicated  were  all  presents  from  me,  and 
this  was  among  them. 

'  Wait  a  moment  "  —  as  he  began  recalling 
details  of  the  incident  —  "  she  opened  the  cabi- 
net and  took  the  reliquary  in  her  hand,  express- 
ing her  delight  over  its  oddity  and  speculating  on 
its  probable  value  as  a  rare  bit  of  virtu."  Of  a 
sudden  the  speaker  started  and  paused,  a  look  of 
surprised  bewilderment  overspreading  his  face. 

"By  Jove,  Foster!"  he  went  on  in  a  mo- 
ment, "  I  remember  now,  although  the  circum- 

[57] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

stance  did  not  strike  me  at  the  time:  while  she 
was  holding  the  reliquary  and  talking  —  talk- 
ing happily,  too,  I  '11  swear  —  why,  all  at  once 

—  quite  abruptly,  I  mean  —  she  became  silent 
and  her  expression  changed.     She  gave  me  a 
peculiar  look  and  hurriedly  put  the  brass  box 
back  into  its  place.     Then  she  locked  the  glass 
door  of  the  cabinet  and  drew  me  away  from  its 
vicinity.     And,  my  dear  fellow,  I  think  —  in- 
deed, I  am  quite  sure  of  it  —  that  for  some  time 

—  perhaps  until  we  parted  —  she  was   not   so 
animated,  her  spirits  wrere  less  gay  than  they 
had  been  a  few  moments  before." 

"  I  confess  I  'm  stumped,"  Cole  gravely  ob- 
served. "  One  thing  I  am  certain  of,  however: 
the  ugly  little  saint  could  not  have  come  here 
without  assistance.  Suppose  you  rout  out  the 
servants  —  poor  beggars !  " 

"  So  I  will  "  —  immediately  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word  by  bearing  down  heavily  upon  the 
button  near  the  door  —  "  every  last  one  of  'em." 

The  butler  responded  promptly  to  the  pro- 
longed summons,  heavy-eyed  for  sleep,  but  not 
permitting  the  slightest  relaxation  of  his  dig- 
nity for  so  common  a  cause. 

[58] 


CULLIMORE 

The  master  of  the  house  curtly  imparted  his 
instructions. 

"  And,  Cullimore,"  was  his  final  word,  "  give 
them  to  understand  they  have  no  time  to  primp; 
I  want  them  at  once." 

Cullimore  was  a  model  butler;  for,  notwith- 
standing the  lateness  of  the  hour  and  the 
consequent  irregularity  of  such  a  demand,  he 
departed  on  his  extraordinary  errand  with  the 
same  air,  at  once  deferential  and  imposingly 
dignified,  with  which  he  would  have  gone  to 
fetch  a  brandy  and  soda. 

Foster  Cole,  however,  observed  one  circum- 
stance which  roused  his  curiosity:  as  Cullimore 
opened  the  door,  the  man's  glance  at  once 
sought  the  wide-topped  desk  —  a  look  that 
struck  Cole  as  being  both  furtive  and,  in  a 
way,  apprehensive.  Was  the  fellow  looking  for 
the  reliquary?  —  perhaps  to  ascertain  whether 
it  had  been  disturbed?  And  if  so,  what  was 
his  interest  in  the  thing? 

At  any  rate,  Cole  continued  to  eye  him  keenly, 
but  could  discern  nothing  behind  the  fellow's 
smug  dignity.  He  had  never  before  been  sus- 
picious of  Cullimore;  indeed,  he  had  often  con- 

[59] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

gratulated  his  friend  on  the  possession  of  such 
an  excellent  major-domo;  but  now  he  was  sus- 
picious of  every  member  of  the  household. 
What  meant  that  sly,  surreptitious  glance  bent 
upon  the  writing- table  ?  Anyhow,  to  use  a 
phrase  of  the  streets,  it  was  up  to  the  servants 
to  account  for  the  presence  of  the  reliquary  and 
its  mysterious  contents. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  the  butler  Cole 
turned  to  his  friend. 

"  I  say,"  said  he,  "  while  you  quiz  the  rest 
of  the  servants  in  here,  let  me  have  Cullimore 
alone  in  another  room  —  before  he  learns  what 
you  are  after.'* 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  you  don't  suspect  him !  " 

The  young  fellow's  shoulders  rose  in  one  of 
his  expressive  shrugs;  it  was  clear  that  he  was 
becoming  terribly  bored. 

;<  I  would  pin  my  faith  to  no  mortal  in  op- 
position to  an  appeal  just  powerful  enough  to 
sway  his  self-interest,"  was  the  cynical  reply. 
"  But  I  am  no  more  suspicious  of  Cullimore 
than  I  am  of  the  remainder  of  your  menage; 
he  's  simply  the  brains  of  the  outfit  —  though  I 
fancy  he  is  at  some  pains  to  conceal  that  fact 

[60] 


CULLIMORE 

—  and  I  object  to  angling  for  suggestions  in 
a  suggestionless  mental  pond.  Pitch  into  your 
dull-witted  retinue  to  your  heart's  content  —  but 
Cullimore  I  have  marked  for  my  legitimate  prey." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I  presume  you  have  an  ob- 
ject; fire  away." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  fellow,"  —  Mr.  Cole  stifled 
a  yawn  —  "all  my  undertakings  are  not  pur- 
poseless. Any  servant  keen  enough  to  play  a 
game  like  the  one  we  are  up  against  to-night 
will  have  no  particular  difficulty  in  dodging  the 
thunders  of  your  wrath.  —  But  here  come  the 
barbarian  horde." 

Cole  intercepted  the  butler  in  the  hall.  Be- 
hind that  worthy  came  a  troop  of  menials,  from 
the  prim  housekeeper  on  down  to  grooms  and 
gaping  stable-boys,  all  more  or  less  dishevelled, 
and  all  apparently  stupid  with  wonder  and  the 
sleep  that  still  befogged  their  brains. 

"  Cullimore,  you  and  I  are  not  wanted  in 
there,"  said  Cole. 

'  Very  well,  sir,"  returned  Cullimore,  betray- 
ing not  the  faintest  flicker  of  curiosity  at  such 
ill-timed,  such  incomprehensible,  proceedings. 
"  Shall  I  light  the  library,  sir?  " 

[61] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Yes,  do." 

For  the  first  time  Cole  was  struck  by  the 
silent  ease  that  characterized  Cullimore's  actions. 
It  was  a  trait  that  would  tend  naturally  to  keep 
the  man  unnoticed  in  the  background;  but  now, 
when  circumstances  brought  him  suddenly  under 
observation,  the  young  man  was  impressed  by 
the  noiseless  footfalls,  the  lithe  fingers  closing 
around  the  door-knob,  the  door  itself  opening 
without  the  faintest  click  of  the  latch,  and  the  en- 
suing silent  entry  into  the  room.  There  was  no 
sign  of  haste,  yet  it  was  all  accomplished  very 
quickly. 

Unconsciously,  Cole  summarized  the  man's 
peculiarities  in  a  half  audible  exclamation. 

"  Stealthy,  by  Jove !  "  muttered  he. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir?  " 

Cole  thoughtfully  regarded  him. 

"  Cullimore,  were  you  ever  ambitious  to 
burgle?" 

The  lights  in  the  large,  handsome  library, 
with  its  fine  collection  of  bronzes,  its  rare  paint- 
ings and  engravings  and  endless  array  of  books, 
were  now  switched  on ;  and  Cullimore,  in  the  act 
of  departing,  paused  with  the  door  partly  open. 


CULLIMORE 

At  first  he  regarded  his  questioner  witK  a 
blank  look;  then  he  smiled  in  sudden  compre- 
hension of  the  other's  humor.  The  smile  was 
polite  and  discreet;  it  indicated  a  recognition 
by  Cullimore  of  the  guest's  privilege  to  indulge 
his  little  joke  at  the  expense  of  the  butler,  and, 
indeed,  that  it  was  very  kind  of  him  to  notice 
the  servants  at  all.  Moreover,  the  smile  sug- 
gested that  the  joke  was,  in  a  way,  a  compli- 
ment to  the  butler's  ability  to  serve  in  the  sta- 
tion of  life  where  Fate  had  seen  fit  to  place 
him.  No,  sir;  his  ambitions  had  never  soared 
above  that,  and  he  hoped  he  would  never  forget 
his  position. 

'  Then  you  consider  a  successful  burglar  to 
be  on  a  level  above  a  conscientious  butler,  eh, 
Cullimore? "  observed  Mr.  Cole. 

"  How  quick  you  are  to  take  one  up,  sir," 
said  Cullimore,  still  politely  smiling.  "  Burglars 
is  a  distressing  topic,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Cole, 
to  all  good  servants." 

'  To  be  sure.  They  are  —  or  should  be  — 
sworn  enemies.  One  would  have  no  easy  time 
getting  in  here  without  you  knowing  it,  I 
daresay." 

[63] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

Cullimore's  countenance  reflected  a  sudden 
consternation.  His  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper. 

*  You  don't  mean,"  anxiously  —  "  it  can't  be 
possible,  sir,  that  burglars  has  been  in  this 
'ouse?" 

"  It  appears  that  somebody  has,  Cullimore  — 
somebody  who  had  no  business  here." 

"  Mr.  Cole  —  begging  your  pardon,  sir  —  it 
is  n't  possible.  Nobody  could  have  come  or 
gone  this  night  and  me  not  knowing  it.  I 
can  name  every  one  that  has  passed  in  or  out 
of  this  'ouse  this  blessed  day  —  tradesmen  and 
all." 

"You  can,  eh?  —  But  you  mean  yesterday." 

"  To  be  sure,  sir;  I  forgot  it  was  to-day. 
Past  two  o'clock,  sir." 

"  You  will  not  have  to  remember  farther  back 
than  last  evening.  Who,  besides  Mr.  Gibbs  and 
myself,  entered  or  left  the  house? " 

"  Only  the  servants,  sir,  and  the  usual  trades- 
men. Several  of  the  former  was  at  the  church." 
He  hesitated  an  instant  before  proceeding,  and 
his  eyes  momentarily  narrowed  into  a  sidewise 
sly  look.  "  I  was  unable  to  attend  myself;  but 
Mrs.  Snodgrass  —  the  'ousekeeper,  that  is,  sir, 

[64] 


CULLIMORE 

—  she  went ;  two  of  the  maids  —  yes,  sir,  and 
'Igdon,  he  went  too." 

"  'Igdon?  "  Mr.  Cole  was  puzzled. 

"  If  you  please,  sir  —  'Ig-don  —  Mr.  Gibbs's 
new  man  from  Lon'n." 

"  Oh,"  with  sudden  illumination  —  "  Higdon." 

"  Yes,  sir  —  'Igdon.  He  's  a  very  capa- 
ble valley,  sir;  seen  service  among  the  nobil- 
ity." Cullimore  here  paid  the  British  peer- 
age a  tribute  with  a  modest  cough  behind  his 
fingers.  "  Mr.  Gibbs  employed  him  only 
yester  —  " 

"  Day  before  yesterday,  Cullimore.  I  remem- 
ber now,  but  I  had  forgotten  the  chap's  name. 
And  what  of  Higdon? " 

"  Why,  sir,  he  's  gone  —  to  N'York,  I  believe, 
sir,  to  arrange  his  affairs  in  view  of  remaining 
permanent  with  Mr.  Gibbs.  'Igdon  was  to  meet 
Mr.  Gibbs  at  the  pier,  and  accompany  him  and 
his  lady  abroad." 

"  Then  he  was  n't  at  the  church? " 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  was.  But  he  came  back  to  the 
'ouse  after  his  bag,  meaning  to  catch  a  late 
train.  He  was  only  here  a  minute  or  two. 
He  got  his  luggage,  very  civilly  bade  me 

5  [65] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

good-bye,  ,and  departed.  I  daresay  he  will  be 
wondering  —  " 

"  He  shall  not  be  forgotten.  I  '11  speak  to 
Mr.  Gibbs  myself." 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind,  sir."  Cullimore 
fairly  radiated  gratitude  in  return  for  the  lift- 
ing of  such  a  weight  of  responsibility  from  his 
shoulders,  and  beamed  with  solicitude  for  the 
absent  Higdon;  yet  the  feelings  were  so  tem- 
pered by  respect  and  deference  that  they  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  been  expressed.  It  was 
as  if  the  inner  fires  of  goodness  had  burst  all 
restraint  in  their  exuberance  and  leaped  to  the 
surface  to  bathe  their  recipient  in  their  benefi- 
cent glow. 

Cole  was  sitting  with  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head,  his  feet  sprawled  out  straight  in  front  of 
him  —  not  a  very  elegant  attitude,  perhaps,  but 
undoubtedly  comfortable;  moreover,  it  was  in 
harmony  with  the  half-closed  eyes  that  so  lazily 
studied  the  suave  butler. 

"  Cullimore,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  for  what 
were  you  looking  on  Mr.  Gibbs's  table  when 
you  came  into  the  den  a  minute  ago? " 

Cullimore   was   not    in   the   least   taken   un- 

[66] 


CULLIMORE 

awares,  although,  if  the  lifting  of  his  astonish- 
ingly flexible  eyebrows  meant  anything,  he  was 
considerably  surprised  and  perplexed. 

"  I ?  —  looking  for  something?  I  —  I  —  don't 
understand." 

"  Oh,  yes  you  do.  The  instant  the  door 
opened  you  looked  pretty  keenly  at  the  desk; 
did  you  fancy  it  had  summoned  you? " 

Instantly  the  man's  face  cleared. 

'  Why,  sir,"  returned  he,  glibly,  "  begging 
your  pardon,  sir,  but  wonderfully  observant 
you  are,  sir  —  when  the  bell  rang  so  insist- 
ent, for  just  a  second  or  two  I  was  startled. 
I  could  not,  just  at  the  moment,  recollect 
whether  or  not  I  had  served  Mr.  Gibbs  and 
you  and  neglected  to  remove  the  tray.  It 's 
not  like  me,  if  you  please,  sir,  to  be  so  care- 
less, and  I  was  a  bit  anxious." 

"  No,  it  is  not  like  you  to  be  careless, 
Cullimore.  I  believe  you  wouldn't  overlook 
anything." 

The  butler  once  more  beamed. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cole,"  murmured  he, 
backing  through  the  doorway.  "  I  am  very 
grateful  for  your  good  opinion ;  hindeed,  it 's 

[67] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

very  kind  of  you.  Do  you  wish  anything 
else,  sir? " 

Foster  Cole  did  not  see  how  he  could  fur- 
ther prolong  the  conversation  to  any  advanta- 
geous end.  So  he  dismissed  the  butler,  and 
sat  meditating  until  certain  sounds  across  the 
hall  told  him  that  the  conference  in  the  den 
had  broken  up.  Then  he  arose  and,  in  his 
leisurely  way,  went  to  rejoin  his  friend,  de- 
voutly hoping  that  his  efforts  had  been  more 
productive  of  results  than  had  the  interview 
with  Cullimore. 

They  had  not  been,  however  —  at  least,  not 
productive  of  the  results  aimed  at.  Some  of 
the  maids  were  in  tears;  the  head  groom  had 
served  notice;  Mrs.  Snodgrass  was  inarticu- 
late with  mortification,  and  the  master  of  the 
house  in  a  black,  scowling  rage.  The  per- 
turbed servants  flocked  out  in  a  body,  pausing  to 
protest  vigorously  among  themselves,  and  occa- 
sioning a  deal  of  confusion;  while  Cole,  halting 
on  the  threshold,  contemplated  their  departure, 
and  took  their  inadvertent  jostling  with  a  mild 
amusement.  Already  Cullimore  was  silently  re- 
moving the  evidences  of  their  presence. 

[68] 


CULLIMORE 

Advancing  into  the  room,  Cole  remarked, 

"  Well,  I  know  as  much  as  I  did  before. 
You  only  have  learned  something,  —  if  you 
could  but  take  the  message  to  heart:  it  never 
pays  to  browbeat  the  servants." 

"  To  the  devil  with  your  smug  philosophy  1 " 
was  the  angry  rejoinder.  But  the  young  man 
ignored  it. 

"  There 's  a  contrivance  recently  invented 
by  some  college  professor,"  said  he,  "  that 
I  'd  like  to  try  on  Cullimore.  It  is  a  lie  de- 
tector; with  its  aid  one  can  plumb  the  bot- 
tomless pits  of  a  chap's  subconscious  mind, 
and  fathom  all  the  mysteries  of  his  sublimi- 
nal ego.  You  set  some  wheels  going,  the 
chap  lays  his  hands  on  a  what-you-call-'em, 
and  then  you  proceed  to  fire  some  words  at 
him.  It  is  like  a  game.  The  chap  must  say 
the  first  word  that  pops  into  his  mind,  sug- 
gested by  the  word  you  gave  him;  the  ma- 
chine measures  the  interval  of  thought,  and 
if  there  is  nothing  to  interfere  with  the  asso- 
ciation of  ideas,  the  chap  will  answer  prompt 
the  first  word  that  your  word  suggests.  Hes- 
itation signifies  equivocation. 

[69] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

'  The  possibilities  are  obvious.  If  you  lead 
him  unsuspecting  over  a  prepared  course, 
why,  pretty  soon  he  begins  to  shy;  the 
machine  notes  the  time,  and  —  Where  's  the 
little  brass  saint?" 

Cole's  tone  changed  so  abruptly  from  a 
lazy  drawl  to  one  of  eager,  surprised  inquiry, 
that  his  inattentive  hearer  started  from  the 
moody  reverie  into  which  he  was  drifting  under 
the  soporific  influence  of  the  younger  man's 
aimless  chatter. 

'  There  it  is,  confound  —  why,  where  is  it?" 

Astonishment  overspread  Gibbs's  face,  as  he 
stared  at  the  bric-a-brac  on  his  desk.  In  an- 
other moment  he  cried  aloud: 

"  Good  Lord,  Foster!  am  I  going  insane? 
I  would  swear  the  thing  was —  But  you 
know  yourself  it  was  there  not  over  ten  min- 
utes ago.  Where  —  how  could  it  have  gone?" 

For  the  second  time  this  night  the  two 
stood  staring  blankly  at  each  other,  for  once 
Cole's  air  of  ennui  effectually  routed. 

Although  they  hunted  high  and  low  for  it, 
the  reliquary,  together  with  the  slip  of  paper 
and  the  gilt  band,  was  not  to  be  found. 

[70] 


CHAPTER  V 

EPISODE   OF   THE   SPEEDING   MOTOR   CAB 

IF  two  men  were  ever  perplexed  by  a  sequence 
of  incomprehensible  occurrences,  why,  those 
two  men  were  Lecomte  Gibbs  and  his  faithful 
Achates,  Foster  Cole. 

Despite  the  former's  great  wealth  and  the 
fact  that  he  was  at  the  head  of  one  of  the 
Nation's  greatest  industries,  his  life  had  not 
been  particularly  eventful.  Williamsburg  is  a 
city  of  wealth,  and,  consequently,  a  certain  kind 
of  subdued  splendor  stamps  all  its  different 
phases,  the  whole  having  been  built  upon  a 
solid  foundation  of  coal  and  iron.  Every  day 
in  the  year,  without  interruption,  the  chimneys 
and  blast-furnaces  belch  forth  dense  clouds  of 
black,  obscuring  the  heavens  and  polluting  the 
landscape  for  miles  around;  at  night  their  glare 
is  lurid,  never  dying  away.  The  smoke  has 
been  likened  to  incense,  the  glare  to  the  per- 
petual fires,  on  the  high  altar  of  Mammon. 

Still,  it  was  all  quite  commonplace  to  those 

[71] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

who  had  been  reared  in  the  city's  murky  atmos- 
phere; and  Gibbs,  with  some  scores  of  his  kind, 
lived  a  rather  humdrum  existence,  diversified  by 
the  customary  social  happenings,  an  occasional 
brief  trip  abroad,  or,  perchance,  a  rare  day  or  two 
snatched  from  the  dull  course  of  business  to 
shoot  or  fish  on  a  nearby  club  preserve.  There- 
fore we  may  the  more  readily  sympathize  with 
him  when,  without  warning,  he  was  hurled  from 
this  familiar  routine  into  a  labyrinth  of  mys- 
tery, where  he  was  menaced  by  unknown  perils 
on  every  hand.  He  was  left  helpless,  stupefied; 
for  experience  offered  no  suggestion  that  might 
avail  him. 

Besides,  contrary  to  the  universal  belief  that 
marriages  in  his  sphere  are  affairs  of  the  purse 
rather  than  of  the  heart,  no  sentiment  other 
than  love,  and  that  disposition  of  the  mind 
toward  the  beloved  which  follows  as  a  matter 
of  course,  had  entered  into  his  relations  with 
Miss  Day.  And  furthermore,  Lecomte  Gibbs 
was  a  man  of  fine  sensibilities  which  were  capa- 
ble of  adapting  themselves  to  innumerable  deli- 
cate shades  of  feeling,  to  whom  the  divine 
emotion  was  indeed  no  small  matter. 

[72] 


THE  SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

All  of  which  is  set  down  at  some  length  be- 
cause Foster  Cole  was  fully  alive  to  the  many 
complexities  of  his  friend's  suffering,  and,  being 
indeed  a  true  friend,  the  least  he  could  do  was 
to  devote  his  best  endeavors  to  finding  Miss 
Day  and  returning  her  to  her  distracted  lover, 
if  —  the  reservation  must  be  added  —  the  end 
of  the  search  justified  him  in  so  doing.  Maybe 
she  had  been  foully  dealt  with;  God  grant  that 
she  had  not;  but  in  the  event  that  she  had, 
somebody  would  be  made  to  suffer,  and  he  was 
quite  willing  to  lend  himself  as  an  instrument 
of  vengeance.  He  was  able  to  consider  the  pos- 
sibilities and  arrive  at  the  conclusion  named  with 
cold-blooded  deliberation;  therefore  he  became 
an  adversary  by  no  means  to  be  despised. 

Choosing  to  walk  through  the  still  night  from 
his  friend's  mansion  to  his  own  modest  club 
lodgings,  Cole  reviewed  in  his  mind  all  the  cir- 
cumstances. He  too  felt  that  he  was  groping 
in  a  fog  of  mystery  impenetrable  and  amazing; 
yet  he  was  not  without  hope  in  seeking  a 
solution. 

If  Lecomte  Gibbs's  life  had  been  humdrum, 
his  own  had  not;  it  is  no  part  of  this  narrative 

[73] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

to  enter  into  the  whys  and  wherefores;  but  the 
thought  brought  to  his  lips  a  satirical  little  twist, 
a  bit  of  sardonic  humor  confided  to  the  night, 
which  faded  before  the  bright  image  of  Edith 
Gervaise.  This  image,  let  it  be  confessed  for 
him,  was  with  him  pretty  constantly. 

He  went  over  again  that  young  lady's  account 
of  what  had  occurred  at  the  church,  concentrat- 
ing his  attention  upon  each  detail  in  turn. 

First  of  all,  the  gilt  band  received  by  Dor- 
othy conveyed  an  intelligible  message  to  her; 
it  had  stung  to  life  some  bitter,  poignant  mem- 
ory. This  could  argue  only  a  previous  ac- 
quaintance—  a  very  unpleasant  one,  it  might 
be  taken  for  granted  —  with  an  identical  or 
similar  article.  One  second's  hesitation,  and 
then  the  potency  of  what  the  thin  strip  of 
metal  stood  for  had  outweighed  every  other 
consideration ;  she  fled  without  a  word  —  at  any 
rate,  without  a  word  that  anybody  understood. 

Assuredly  there  can  be  no  more  important 
crisis  in  a  girl's  life  than  her  marriage  to  the 
man  she  loves.  Still,  Dorothy  Day  had  been 
prevailed  upon,  in  some  nameless,  some  terribly 
mysterious  manner,  to  forsake  her  waiting  lover, 

[74] 


THE   SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

the  brilliantly  lighted  church,  the  assemblage 
of  invited  guests;  she  was  stricken  deaf  to  the 
notes  of  the  wedding-march,  and  she  had  van- 
ished from  off  the  face  of  the  earth  as  com- 
pletely as  if  she  had  been  enveloped  in  the  folds 
of  an  invisible  mantle.  Verily,  it  was  an  un- 
canny power  that  could  instantly  blot  from  her 
mind  a  sense  of  her  highest  obligations. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  very  serious  aspects 
of  the  case,  Cole  might  have  laughed  ^at  the 
extravagantly  fantastic  stage-business  repre- 
sented by  the  gilt  band,  the  jugglery  with  the 
brass  reliquary,  and  the  anonymous  warning 
with  its  scarcely  veiled  threat.  The  last  was 
absolutely  bizarre  —  outre  —  but  withal,  after 
what  had  gone  before,  deadly  sinister.  Who 
was  warned  —  Gibbs?  And  from  what  was  he 
warned?  Why,  from  making  any  effort  to  find 
Miss  Day.  AJS  if  any  man  with  red  blood  in 
his  veins  could  be  deterred  by  such  a  method! 
Rather,  its  immediate  result  was  to  inspire  both 
him  and  Cole  to  greater  efforts,  to  redouble 
their  resolve  and  fire  them  with  that  degree  of 
determination  which  ignores  all  obstacles.  Only 
they  knew  not  where  to  begin,  in  which  direc- 

[75] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

tion  the  first  step  in  the  search  should  be 
taken. 

But  then,  the  warning  applied  to  Cole  with 
equal,  if  not  added,  point;  for  he  was  deter- 
mined to  clear  away  the  mystery  in  the  face  of 
any  danger  that  might  present  itself. 

"  Cave  canem,"  said  the  young  man  with  a 
smile,  as  he  sauntered  slowly  along  the  deserted 
walk.  "  I  will;  but  I  wish  I  knew  where  the 
beast  was  kennelled.  Still,  I  am  in  a  wajr 
forearmed. 

"Great  Ca?sar!"  in  impatient  exclamation, 
"  how  I  should  like  to  have  been  in  the  vestry- 
room  when  that  chap  forced  his  way  in.  And 
Dolly,  what  was  she  running  from?  —  or  to?" 

Mentally  he  constructed  a  kinetoscopic  picture 
of  her  blind,  terrified  flight  down  the  corridor, 
from  the  vestry-room  to  the  side  door.  He 
halted  with  a  sudden  start. 

"By  George!"  marvelled  he.  "That  detec- 
tive brought  it  out  that  Edith  did  n't  see  Dor- 
othy run  down  the  corridor;  could  Edith  have 
missed  anything?  Dorothy  must  have  passed 
within  a  half-dozen  feet  of  where  Lecomte  and 
I  were  waiting  for  the  signal  in  Dr.  Floyd's 

[76] 


THE   SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

study.  I  recollect  now,  a  second  door  opens 
from  the  study  upon  a  short  passage  —  a  sort 
of  entry  —  leading  to  the  corridor,  which  it  joins 
at  the  side  door  opening  into  the  yard ;  that 's 
the  way  the  dominie's  callers  get  in  to  see  him. 
Why,  if  that  second  door  had  been  open  we 
would  have  seen  her  when  —  but  no,  there  is  a 
curtain  —  a  portiere  arrangement  separating 
the  entry  from  the  corridor.  We  couldn't  have 

p 

seen  her  unless  that  curtain  was  looped  back." 
The  spot  where  he  now  stood  was  at  a  street 
corner,  in  the  bright  glare  of  a  sizzling  arc 
light.  One  short  block  to  his  left,  down  the 
intersecting  thoroughfare,  reared  St.  Stephen's 
lofty  spires  and  ivy-clad  fapade;  and  for  a  time 
he  remained  motionless,  thoughtfully  staring 
through  the  darkness,  which,  by  reason  of  the 
numerous  shade  trees,  was  dense  enough. 

Presently  the  silence  was  broken  by  the  sound 
of  leisurely  footsteps  and  the  clatter  of  a  police- 
man's night-stick  upon  the  cement  walk.  The 
sounds  were  approaching,  and  without  moving 
Cole  waited. 

"  Hope  it 's  a  copper  I  know,"  muttered  he; 
for  his  few  minutes'  revery  had  crystallized  into 

[77] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

a  determination  which  he  was  impatient  to  put 
into  execution. 

At  last  the  policeman  appeared.  He  ad- 
vanced, peering  curiously  at  the  silent  figure 
on  the  corner.  And  then  quite  suddenly  he 
halted;  one  hand  rose  to  the  brim  of  his  hel- 
met in  a  salute  unmistakably  military. 

"Why,  if  it  ain't  Lieutenant  Cole!"  cried 
he. 

"  Look  here,  Spotwood,"  returned  that  young 
man,  with  affected  sternness,  "  how  often  do  I 
have  to  point  out  to  you  fellows  that  I  am  no 
longer  a  lieutenant?  When  we  were  mustered 
out  we  one  and  all  became  private  citizens 
again;  the  glory  of  our  military  careers  was 
merged  into  the  dull  grind  of  —  of  —  er  —  '* 
Unable  to  round  his  period,  he  dropped  from 
dizzy  rhetorical  heights  to  a  manner  more  con- 
fidential; thrusting  his  hands  into  his  trousers' 
pockets,  he  concluded: 

"  I  say,  Spotwood,  lend  me  your  flash-light 
for  a  few  minutes,  will  you? " 

Spotwood  stared  for  a  moment;  and  then, 
tucking  his  night-stick  under  an  arm,  laughed. 

"Why,  I  will  — yes,"  said  he.    "But  that's 

[78] 


THE  SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

a  funny  request,  coming  from  you  this  time  of 
night." 

"And  while  past  experience  of  me,"  Cole 
whimsically  took  him  up,  "  inclines  you  to  re- 
gard my  request  with  suspicion,  still,  you  want 
to  be  obliging.  You  're  a  good  scout,  Spot- 
wood,  and  you  're  deucedly  curious  to  know 
what  I'm  after  —  what?" 

"  Here  's  the  lamp,  Lieu  —  Mr.  Cole.  You 
know  how  to  work  it?  —  just  keep  your  thumb 
on  that  button  there  when  you  want  a  light. 
And  where  shall  I  —  ?  " 

"  There 's  nothing  secret  about  this,"  inter- 
rupted the  young  man.  "  Come  past  the  church 
yonder  in  —  oh,  say  a  half -hour;  I  '11  be  through 
with  your  lantern  by  then." 

"Sure  I  couldn't  be  of  service,  sir?  You 
had  better  let  me  go  with  you." 

"  Don't  want  you.  You  know  what  hap- 
pened to-night?" 

"  Just  from  casual  talk.  Has  the  lady  been 
heard  from? " 

"No;  there's  not  a  clew  to  work  on.  By 
the  way,  Spot,  what  time  did  you  come  on  duty 
to-night  —  last  night,  rather?  " 

[79] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

'  You  mean  on  my  beat?  Why,  it  was  the 
usual  time  —  seven  o'clock." 

'  Were  you  near  the  church  at  the  time  the 
wedding  was  to  have  occurred?" 

Cole's  customary  air  of  indifference  was  for 
the  moment  forgotten.  He  watched  the  patrol- 
man keenly. 

"  Well  —  no,"  the  latter  replied,  after  a  mo- 
ment's consideration.  "  A  couple  of  extras 
were  detailed  to  handle  the  crowd  about  the 
church,  so  I  just  kept  to  my  beat,  knowing 
I  would  n't  be  needed  there.  You  want  to 
know,  I  suppose,  if  I  saw  anything  out  of  the 
way? " 

"  Spotwood,  your  perspicacity  is  beyond 
criticism." 

'  Then  would  you  mind  telling  me  at  just 
what  time  the  young  lady  disappeared?" 

"  So  near  eight  that  all  accurate  clocks  must 
have  been  chiming  the  hour.  Out  with  it;  you 
did  see  something,  I  know." 

The  blue-coat  hesitated. 

"  Why,  yes,"  admitted  he,  haltingly,  after  the 
pause;  "but  it's  rather  more  in  the  way  of  an 
experience,  and  one  that  I  'm  not  overly  proud 

[80] 


THE   SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

of.  It 's  only  while  I  Ve  been  talking  here 
with  you  —  particularly  since  you  mentioned 
the  hour  the  lady  disappeared  —  that  I  re- 
gard my  adventure  in  the  light  of  a  possi- 
ble clew.  There  may  be  nothing  in  it  at  all, 
but  —  " 

"Well,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  Spot,  tell  it! 
—  tell  it!"  interrupted  his  hearer,  impatiently. 
Spotwood  laughed  once  more  and  obeyed. 

'  Well,  sir,  at  eight  o'clock  I  was  on  this 
very  street,  coming  towards  St.  Stephen's,  but 
something  over  two  blocks  east  of  it.  All  at 
once  I  saw  the  lights  of  a  big  auto  and  heard 
it  bearing  down  on  me  at  a  forty-mile  clip, 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  church.  What 
it  was  doing  to  the  speed  ordinance  was  a 
plenty. 

"  I  stepped  out  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
under  an  electric  light.  Ordinarily  I  wouldn't 
have  paid  any  attention  to  them  at  that  time 
of  night,  but  the  neighboring  streets  were 
sprinkled  pretty  thick  with  carriages  —  on  ac- 
count of  the  wedding  —  and  I  meant  simply 
to  stop  and  caution  'em. 

"  Of  course  they  could  n't  miss  making  me  out 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

in  the  glare  of  the  light,  nor  what  I  was  after; 
but  do  you  think  they  slowed  down?  Not  a 
bit!  In  a  second  I  saw  they  meant  to  dodge 
'round,  and  that  roused  my  Irish. 

"  '  Here,  you,  stop ! '  I  yelled,  making  a  bluff 
at  my  gun.  That  brought  them  up,  for  they 
saw  I  meant  business.  It  was  a  big,  handsome 
touring-car,  with  three  people  in  it,  —  a  man 
driving,  another  in  the  rear,  and  a  third  figure 
so  bundled  that  I  could  n't  tell  whether  it  was 
a  man  or  woman. 

"  I  commenced  giving  it  to  'em  pretty  rough, 
when  the  man  behind  broke  in  in  a  way  that 
made  me  listen  to  him.  His  voice  was  trem- 
bling, and  he  seemed  fair  beside  himself. 

" '  For  God's  sake,  officer,'  said  he,  '  don't 
stop  us ;  we  're  taking  a  sick  lady  —  ' 

"By  Jove!"  burst  involuntarily  from  Cole. 

"  Wait,"  said  the  other.  "  This  fellow  did  all 
the  talking,  and  there  was  no  doubt  about  him 
being  eager  to  go  on.  He  said  they  were 
hurrying  with  the  lady  to  a  hospital;  that  the 
chauffeur  was  the  lad  that  could  speed  blind- 
folded through  a  crowded  street  as  easy  as  he 
could  an  empty  one  with  his  eyes  open;  and  I 

[82] 


THE   SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

would  have  passed  them  on  with  a  *  Good-luck! ' 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  two  things  —  there  was 
no  number  on  the  front  of  the  machine,  where 
the  law  requires  there  must  be  one  as  well  as 
the  rear;  and,  after  squinting  at  that  third 
party  until  my  eyes  ached,  I  couldn't  tell 
whether  it  was  a  sick  woman,  a  dead  one,  or  a 
bundle  of  rags. 

"  As  for  the  other  two,  I  was  unable  to  get 
much  of  an  idea  of  them  on  account  of  leather 
auto  fixin's,  goggles,  and  so  on. 

"  All  this  time  the  man  on  the  front  seat 
had  n't  stirred.  He  sat  there  like  a  wooden  In- 
dian, staring  straight  ahead,  his  hands  grasp- 
ing the  steering-wheel,  and  the  engines  hum- 
ming away  for  dear  life.  I  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  of  that  bunch,  and  then  I  was  n't 
over  two  seconds  making  up  my  mind. 

"'I'll  just  go  with  you,'  said  I;  and  the 
fellow  on  the  front  seat  all  at  once  came  to 
life. 

" '  Get  up  here  with  me,'  says  he,  real  short, 
and  without  even  turning  his  head  my  way,  '  and 
be  quick  about  it.' 

"  There  was  something  about  that  fellow  — 

[83] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

his  voice  —  manner  —  I  don't  know  just  what 
—  that  made  me  hesitate  and  try  again  to  get 
a  look  at  him;  but  it  was  no  go. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Cole,  I  got  the  surprise  of  my 
life.  I  was  no  more  looking  for  it  than  I  am 
looking  for  these  trees  to  walk  away;  conse- 
quently, I  was  an  easy  mark." 

The  patrolman  laughed  a  bit  ruefully. 

"  I  had  one  foot  off  the  ground  and  was  just 
gathering  myself  to  spring  in,  when  that  silent 
stiff  threw  on  the  speed  till  you  'd  have  thought 
the  gears  would  have  been  stripped  smooth.  At 
the  same  time  he  gave  a  little  twist  to  the 
wheel  that  tossed  me  to  one  side,  and  before  I 
stopped  rolling  they  were  gone. 

'  You  can  bet,  I  was  n't  proud  of  that  feat. 
There  I  was,  ditched,  and  I  had  n't  the  least 
idea  what  game  they  were  up  to;  although  I 
finally  made  up  my  mind  that  the  lady  had 
perhaps  taken  a  drop  too  much,  and  as  they 
were  all  swells  they  did  n't  want  to  be  recog- 
nized. Anyhow,  after  I  had  thought  it  over  I 
did  n't  see  why  I  should  report  the  matter  at 
headquarters;  but  I  hope  it  may  be  of  some 
use  to  you." 

[84] 


THE   SPEEDING  MOTOR  CAR 

Marvelling  considerably  over  Policeman  Spot- 
wood's  adventure  with  the  speeding  motor  car, 
Cole  was  presently  headed  toward  St.  Stephen- 
the-Martyr's,  bent  upon  prosecuting  a  bit  of 
detective  work  on  his  own  account. 


[85] 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   SCARRED    HAND 

WHILE  Cole  stood  peering  down  the  dark 
street  toward  St.  Stephen's,  and  just 
prior  to  the  appearance  of  Officer  Spotwood,  it 
had  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  learn  some- 
thing by  an  inspection  of  the  premises  adjacent 
to  the  church;  hence  his  request  for  the  blue- 
coat's  dark  lantern.  Moreover,  as  his  imagina- 
tion conjured  up  a  mental  picture  of  Miss  Day's 
flight,  several  other  ideas  had  taken  shape  in  his 
mind,  and  he  was  impatient  to  confirm  the  con- 
clusions reached  by  his  reasoning. 

In  the  alley  behind  the  church,  thus  ran  his 
reflections,  there  had  been  a  vehicle  of  some 
kind  without  lights:  whence  had  it  come? 
whither  had  it  gone?  It  was  not  surprising 
that  he  had  started  and  exclaimed  at  Spot  wood's 
reference  to  the  lady  in  the  motor  car.  The 
oft-tried  process  of  elimination  had,  it  would 
seem,  been  successful  in  this  instance  in  focus- 
ing his  attention  upon  the  alley. 

[86] 


THE   SCARRED   HAND 

For  in  what  other  direction  could  she  have 
gone?  She  could  not  have  progressed  far  with- 
out attracting  attention;  and,  in  her  bridal 
array,  to  have  attracted  attention  would  have 
meant  the  provoking  of  a  lively  curiosity  and 
a  lasting  remembrance  of  the  circumstance  in 
the  minds  of  those  who  had  encountered  her. 
At  the  front  of  the  church  there  had  been  nu- 
merous carriages  with  their  attendants;  others 
were  constantly  arriving  and  discharging  their 
human  contents,  and  all  the  neighboring  walks 
were  being  paraded  by  that  class  of  people  who 
are  always  attracted  to  a  wedding  in  polite 
society,  and  who  are  ever  alert  to  miss  no  detail 
of  such  an  affair  that  may  hint  at  the  unusual 
or  afford  a  topic  for  scandal. 

Furthermore,  if  Dorothy  Day  had  been  as 
agitated  as  Edith's  account  would  lead  one  to 
believe,  it  was  not  within  reason  that  she  would 
have  carried  both  the  bouquet  and  the  gilt  band 
any  considerable  distance  while  she  ran.  A 
woman  could  never  break  a  running-record  in 
a  gown  with  a  long  train,  and  it  was  a  safe 
guess  that  she  would  discard  such  impedimenta 
as  she  could. 

[87] 


The  church  was  closed  and  dark,  of  course, 
when  Cole  arrived  there.  Perhaps  this  circum- 
stance was  unfortunate,  for  he  would  have  liked 
to  traverse  the  corridor  from  the  vestry-room 
to  the  side  door,  and  to  inspect  the  short  pas- 
sage connecting  Dr.  Floyd's  study  with  both 
the  corridor  and  the  door  mentioned.  But  he 
was  obliged  to  confine  his  search  to  the  outside; 
and  he  soon  had  his  entire  attention  completely 
engaged. 

The  hour  was  now  close  to  dawn  of  Wednes- 
day morning,  and  no  light  was  shed  upon  the 
scene  save  the  pale  glimmer  of  starshine  and  the 
insignificant  spark  from  the  electric  pocket-lamp. 

Cole  began  at  the  side  door.  A  cement  walk 
led  around  to  the  front,  another  directly  across 
to  the  rectory;  but  the  remainder  of  the  yard 
consisted  of  closely  trimmed  lawn,  except  for 
one  or  two  conventional  clumps  of  shrubbery 
and  a  solitary  large  maple  tree.  It  was  clearer 
than  ever  that  Miss  Day  had  not  departed  by 
either  of  the  routes  indicated,  and  the  sole  re- 
maining one  lay  to  the  rear. 

A  high  board  fence,  painted  brown,  divided 
the  church  and  the  rectory  premises  from  the 

[88] 


THE  SCARRED   HAND 

alley,  and  toward  this  Cole  directed  his  steps, 
flashing  to  and  fro  the  single  eye  of  light  as 
he  advanced. 

He  noted  with  some  disappointment  that  the 
well-kept  turf  was  too  dry  and  close  to  bear 
for  long  any  record  of  a  hasty  passage  across 
its  surface;  but  presently  he  arrived  before  a 
gate  giving  access  to  the  alley,  and  here  he 
found  his  first  tangible  clew. 

The  gate  was  held  shut  by  a  weight,  which 
he  had  no  sooner  observed  than  the  roving  light 
paused  on  a  spot  of  white  fabric  protruding 
from  a  splinter  on  one  of  the  posts.  It  was  a 
bit  of  chiffon. 

The  intent  investigator  was  in  the  act  of  re- 
leasing it  when  his  ear  caught  a  peculiar  sound; 
instantly  he  became  rigid.  Across  the  alley  an 
arbor-vitae  hedge  marked  the  boundary  of  the 
property  on  that  side,  and  it  was  from  this 
hedge  that  the  sound  —  a  rustling,  as  of  leaves ; 
a  straining  and  parting  of  branches  —  seemed 
to  come.  But  the  light,  cautiously  directed 
after  a  moment  up  and  down  the  row  of  green- 
ery, revealed  nothing. 

Probably  a  wandering  cat  or  a  disturbed  bird, 

[89] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

concluded  Cole,  as  he  turned  again  to  the  bit 
of  chiffon  to  examine  it  more  closely. 

Yards  upon  yards  of  the  same  material,  with- 
out doubt,  might  be  obtained  from  any  dry- 
goods  shop  in  town;  but  this  circumstance  was 
of  slight  consequence  in  view  of  the  fact  that 
an  identical  fabric  had  been  a  conspicuous  part 
of  Miss  Day's  attire  the  evening  before. 

The  young  man's  glance  darted  restlessly 
about,  following  the  beam  from  the  flash-light; 
and  presently  he  passed  through  the  gate,  which, 
all  this  time,  he  had  been  holding  open.  Al- 
most at  once  he  uttered  a  little  exclamation,  for 
there  lay  the  muff  of  bridal  roses,  bound  with 
yards  of  broad,  white  satin  ribbon. 

He  stooped  with  extended  hand  to  pick  it  up, 
the  action  bringing  nearer  the  rays  from  the 
lamp  until  they  converged  to  a  diameter  no 
greater  than  that  of  a  dinner  plate.  But  again 
he  paused  and  waited  apprehensively;  once 
more  the  unseen  cat,  or  whatever  it  was,  stirred 
restlessly  in  the  hedge.  The  night  was  so  silent 
and  tranquil,  Cole's  attention  was  so  keen  upon 
his  search,  that  the  trifling  noise  was  startling. 
But,  as  before,  the  young  man  saw  nothing  to 

[90] 


THE   SCARRED   HAND 

justify  his  vague  uneasiness,  and  the  beam  from 
the  lamp  was  presently  bent  again  upon  the 
bouquet. 

The  circle  of  light  was  sharply  defined; 
within  its  circumference  the  white  and  green  of 
the  roses  was  vivid;  immediately  beyond  was 
a  darkness  dense  and  impenetrable. 

And  now,  just  as  Cole's  hand  was  about  to 
close  upon  the  muff  of  roses,  another  hand 
darted  into  the  moon  of  light.  It  too  became 
suddenly  vivid  within  the  circumscribed  area  of 
illumination.  For  all  that  Cole  could  see,  it 
might  have  been  a  disembodied  hand;  but,  how- 
ever that  may  be,  he  was  afforded  the  scantest 
moment  for  wonder  and  reflection.  The  hand's 
action  was  brief  and  direct;  it  appeared  beneath 
his  astonished  eyes  and  firmly  seized  the  bou- 
quet which  he  himself  was  on  the  very  point  of 
picking  up.  Next  instant  he  was  stunned  by 
a  crushing  blow  on  the  head. 

As  he  sank  with  a  groan  to  the  brick-paved 
alley,  he  carried  into  his  semi-unconsciousness  a 
glowing  mental  picture  of  that  mysterious  hand. 

Across  the  back  of  it  was  a  long  white  scar. 


F91] 


CHAPTER   VII 

MISS   GERVAISE   RECOLLECTS 

IT  has  already  been  briefly  mentioned  that 
Miss  Edith  Gervaise  was  an  exceptionally 
pretty  girl;  indeed,  she  was  so  pretty  that  the 
fact  is  well  worth  repeating  and  emphasizing. 
Moreover,  she  was  very  bright,  quick  at  deduc- 
ing conclusions  from  the  details  which  her  hand- 
some, clear-seeing  brown  eyes  perceived,  and 
confident  in  her  judgment  after  she  had  once 
made  up  her  mind. 

As  we  all  know  —  or  think  we  know  —  the 
feminine  mind  is  as  uncertain  as  a  stick  of  frozen 
dynamite  thawing  in  a  hot  stove;  to  Foster  Cole 
this  perplexing  uncertainty  was  one  of  Miss  Ger- 
vaise's  chief  characteristics ;  and  while  it  afforded 
a  source  of  endless  charm  and  a  wealth  of  de- 
lightful surprises,  at  the  same  time  it  was  ca- 
pable of  producing  phases  that  filled  him  with 
anxiety. 

[92] 


MISS  GERVAISE  RECOLLECTS 

But  deep  down  in  his  inner  consciousness,  had 
he  been  qualified  to  search  there  with  an  unpre- 
judiced desire  for  exact  information,  he  would 
have  found  a  conviction  that  she  was  absolutely 

v 

dependable  in  moments  of  crisis,  and  capable  of 
any  amount  of  self-sacrifice  at  the  call  of  friend- 
ship—  or  should  we  say,  of  love?  To  use  a 
catachresis  inspired  by  one  of  his  very  rare  bursts 
of  enthusiasm,  and  triumphantly  confided  to  him- 
self after  certain  occasions  when  she  had  been  un- 
usually kind  to  him,  Miss  Eidith  was  "  a  brick." 

After  arriving  home  from  St.  Stephen-the- 
Martyr's  Tuesday  night,  she  had  entered  upon 
a  long  period  of  wakefulness,  during  which  her 
active  brain  was  feverishly,  though  vainly,  striv- 
ing to  find  some  plausible  solution  to  the  mys- 
tifying problem  presented  by  her  friend's 
evanishment. 

Like  Mr.  Gibbs,  she  had  no  word  of  censure 
for  Miss  Day;  she  could  not  banish  from  her 
thoughts  the  image  of  that  swift  transition  in 
the  bride's  lovely  countenance,  from  joy  inef- 
fable to  tragic  horror;  and  if  there  is  a  light 
supernal,  visible  to  mortal  eyes,  where  is  it  to 
be  found  if  not  in  the  face  of  a  willing  bride? 

[93] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

But  the  pinched,  anguish-stricken  look,  which 
had  so  rapidly  succeeded  the  other,  remained 
with  Miss  Edith,  as  persistent  as  the  curse  of 
Kehama,  — 

"  And  sleep  shall  obey  me, 
And  visit  thee  never, 

And  the  curse  shall  be  on  thee 
Forever  and  ever." 

And  so  she  had  remained  wakeful  throughout 
the  long,  silent  watches  of  the  night. 

Loyalty  at  once  influenced  her  to  reject  the 
obvious  explanation:  she  would  not  for  an  in- 
stant entertain  the  idea  of  an  unknown  lover. 
Furthermore,  their  intimacy  precluded  the  very 
possibility  of  another  lover's  existence,  unless  — 
and  here  she  paused  —  unless  that  lover  bore  a 
part  in  the  portion  of  Dolly's  life  that  had  been 
lived  before  she  came  to  Williamsburg.  Miss 
Gervaise  was  bound  to  admit,  very  reluctantly, 
that  some  pages  of  that  distant  period  had  never 
been  turned  for  her  perusal. 

She  reviewed  the  facts  as  she  knew  them. 

Dorothy's  mother  had  died  when  her  daughter 
was  a  mere  babe ;  Dorothy  retained  but  the  dim- 
mest remembrance  of  her;  while  her  father  had 

[94] 


MISS   GERVAISE   RECOLLECTS 

passed  away  a  few  months  prior  to  her  arrival 
in  Williamsburg. 

At  this  stage  she  asked  the  identical  question 
which  Foster  Cole  had  put  to  Mr.  Gibbs:  Why 
had  she  chanced  to  select  Williamsburg  as  a 
place  of  residence?  —  and  received  no  more  satis- 
factory an  answer  than  Cole  had.  Dolly  herself 
had  laughingly  said  that  the  city  had  appealed 
to  her  by  reason  of  its  dirt  and  soot,  since  there 
was  some  credit  attached  to  cleanliness  in  a  place 
where  nobody  expected  to  keep  clean ;  and  Wil- 
liamsburg's  soot  and  resultant  dinginess  were 
proverbial  throughout  the  rest  of  the  country. 
Even  the  two  rivers  took  on  the  flavor  and  hue 
of  coal  smoke. 

Neither  did  Miss  Edith  hope  much  from  the 
police.  Thoroughly  sophisticated,  as  she  was,  in 
all  the  ways  of  the  polite  world,  she  was  never- 
theless very  ignorant  concerning  the  ways  of 
detectives,  never  having  met  one  before  last 
night ;  and,  indeed,  her  lack  of  faith  on  this  point 
was  not  without  warrant,  since  the  police  were, 
for  the  present,  out  of  the  game.  It  remained, 
then,  for  Dolly's  friends  to  find  her  and  clear 
away  the  fog  of  mystery. 

[95] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Her  cogitations  were  interrupted  by  a  servant 
announcing  Mr.  Cole. 

That  young  gentleman's  appearance  bore  no 
indication  of  his  recent  strenuous  adventure.  A 
cold  plunge  and  a  leisurely  breakfast  at  the  club 
had  combined  to  set  him  to  rights  again,  and  the 
donning  of  a  painstakingly  correct  costume  had 
further  operated  to  imbue  him  with  placid  self- 
satisfaction  and  to  fill  his  soul  with  good-will 
toward  all  the  world. 

It  is  perhaps  worthy  of  note  that  such  was  the 
frame  of  mind  with  which  he  customarily  ap- 
proached Miss  Edith,  and  that  it  was  invariably 
put  ingloriously  to  rout  before  he  had  passed  ten 
minutes  in  her  coveted  society. 

But  to  return,  briefly,  to  the  alley  behind  St. 
Stephen's.  A  few  minutes  after  the  felling  blow 
from  the  unseen  aggressor,  Officer  Spotwood,  in 
quest  of  his  lamp,  was  considerably  astonished  to 
encounter  at  the  alley's  mouth  a  gentleman  in  a 
dress-suit,  clinging  dizzily  to  the  fence  with  one 
hand  while  he  nursed  his  head  with  the  other, 
and  swearing  with  a  picturesque  and  graphic 
volubility  that  obviated  the  necessity  of  any 
questioning  on  the  part  of  the  patrolman.  The 

[96] 


MISS   GERVAISE   RECOLLECTS 

latter,  after  a  moment  of  surprised,  listening, 
propped  the  dazed  Cole  more  securely  against 
his  support,  and  darted  away  in  a  short,  futile 
search  for  the  scarred  unknown.  Not  only  was 
there  no  sign  of  him,  but  the  bouquet  had  van- 
ished, too. 

Still,  one  small  circumstance  is  of  sufficient 
consequence  to  record. 

Spotwood  found  a  business  card  on  the  side- 
walk some  dozen  feet  from  the  alley. 

"  Is  this  of  any  account? "  he  asked,  handing 
it  to  the  young  man  and  bringing  the  flash-light 
to  bear  upon  it. 

Cole  read  aloud :  " '  Leporello,  Seer,  Clair- 
voyant; Revealer  of  the  Past,  Present  and 
Fu  — '  Oh,  the  devil!"  he  broke  off,  flipping 
the  bit  of  pasteboard  into  the  street.  "  I  hoped 
you  had  found  something,  Spot." 

Not  many  hours  later  he  was  to  deplore  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  retained  that  card;  or,  at 
least,  that  he  had  not  examined  it  more  closely 
for  any  written  word  or  clew  it  might  have 
contained. 

However,  the  blow  had  sent  his  wits  wool- 
gathering; his  head  ached  horribly,  and  he  was 
7 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

incapable  of  dealing  with  any  deeper  problem 
than  lay  in  following  the  shortest  way  home  — 
or  what  signified  home  for  him. 

Now  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Gervaise, 
immaculate  as  to  attire,  strong  and  clean-limbed ; 
in  reality  forceful  and  masterful,  and  glowing 
with  good,  healthy  red  blood,  but  hiding  it  all 
behind  a  depressing  blase  mask,  which,  unfortu- 
nately, had  been  stamped  upon  him  —  to  resort 
to  a  Hibernianism  —  before  he  was  born. 

"Oh,  so  you  have  come  at  last,  have  you?" 
was  Miss  Edith's  petulant  greeting. 

"  Really,  Edith,"  expostulated  he,  "  I  did  not 
want  to  disturb  you  too  early.  After  last 
night  —  " 

'  There,  that  will  do,"  she  interrupted.  "  After 
last  night  you  might  have  known  that  I  would 
be  particularly  impatient  until  you  arrived.  I 
am  out  of  sorts,  and  I  have  no  one  with  whom  to 
divide  my  ill-humor.  Draw  up  a  chair;  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

And  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  his  buoyancy 
evaporated,  his  cheerful  self-esteem  vanished. 
He  obeyed,  meekly,  but  without  undue  haste. 
He  was  extremely  anxious  at  all  times  to  please 

[98] 


MISS   GERVAISE   RECOLLECTS 

Miss  Gervaise,  but  was  perpetually  in  doubt  how 
to  go  about  it;  consequently,  although  he  af- 
fected a  bored  expression,  he  was  constantly 
alert,  while  in  her  presence,  to  anticipate  her 
wishes. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  nothing,"  mur- 
mured he,  merely  by  way  of  something  to  say. 

Miss  Gervaise  ignored  this  remark.  Thought- 
fully she  took  in  the  details  of  her  visitor's  cos- 
tume, was  a  bit  nettled  that  she  could  find  noth- 
ing therein  to  criticise,  and  then  announced,  quite 
calmly  and  without  preamble: 

"  I  recollect  where  I  saw  the  man  with  the 
scar." 

A  flicker  of  interest  might  have  been  discerned 
in  Mr.  Cole's  countenance;  but  he  waited  in 
silence  for  further  enlightenment. 

'  Yes."  Her  head  nodded  with  a  pretty,  be- 
witching air  of  wisdom.  "  I  Ve  thought  and 
thought  until  I  believe  my  poor  head  is  ready  to 
burst;  and  this  morning  —  just  at  daybreak  — 
it  came  to  me  like  a  flash." 

"What  did?"  Mr.  Cole  innocently  asked. 

A  spark  of  disapproval  in  the  brown  eyes  dis- 
couraged further  trifling. 

[90] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  If  you  would  devote  one-half  the  effort  to 
finding  Dolly  that  I  have,"  said  she,  severely, 
"  you  would  n't  have  time  to  be  so  silly." 

Cole  subsided.     "  I  daresay,"  he  muttered. 

"  And  you  do  not  even  attempt  to  defend  your- 
self!" the  little  lady  suddenly  flared.  "You 
can't.  Gracious!  how  I  should  enjoy  shaking 
you!" 

"  I   sha'n't   object,"   complacently   from   the 


man. 

« 


Oh,  I  shall  not  lay  the  tip  of  my  fingers 
upon  you.    But  I  mean  to  stir  you  in  some  way." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  would  tell  me  what  came  to 
you  —  after  your  head  commenced  aching,  I 
mean,"  suggested  Cole;  while  Miss  Edith  re- 
garded him  with  suspicion. 

Presently  she  sighed,  resignedly,  and  relaxed 
from  her  attitude  of  reproval. 

"  Dear  me,  Foster,  I  am  afraid  you  are  hope- 
less. If  I  thought  you  would  listen,  I  would  tell 
you." 

His  manner  quickly  altered. 

"  Do,"  said  he,  with  quiet  earnestness ;  "  I  have 
a  particular  reason  for  acquiring  all  the  informa- 
tion I  can  concerning  that  worthy." 

[loo] 


MISS   GERVAISE   RECOLLECTS 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  learn  that  you  are  inter- 
ested even  to  that  extent. 

"  One  day  last  week,"  she  pursued,  "  Dolly 
took  me  for  a  ride  in  her  new  runabout.  We 
returned  to  her  house  for  tea,  and  just  as  we 
drove  up  to  the  gate  that  man  was  standing  on 
the  curb,  staring  at  her  in  the  rudest  way  imag- 
inable. All  at  once  Dolly  saw  him  too.  She 
started,  clutched  my  arm,  and  whispered  excit- 
edly, '  See  that  man,  Edith?  Who  is  he? ' 

"  I  assured  her  that  I  did  not  know.  She  then 
told  me  that  for  more  than  a  week  she  had  not 
been  able  to  stir  from  the  house  without  encoun- 
tering this  strange  man,  and  that  he  always 
watched  her  in  the  same  peculiar,  intent  man- 
ner, until  she  passed  out  of  sight.  His  conduct 
had  begun  to  worry  her;  but  when  I  suggested 
that  she  mention  the  matter  to  Mr.  Gibbs  or  the 
police,  she  laughed  and  said  that,  after  all,  per- 
haps the  man  did  n't  know  any  better,  and  that 
she  would  place  him  on  the  list  with  her  unknown 
admirers." 

"  And  she  did  n't  know  the  beggar?  "  inquired 
Mr.  Cole.  His  mask  of  indifference  now  hid  a 
very  lively  interest,  of  which  Miss  Gervaise  was 

[101] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

doubtless  sensible.  She  shook  her  head  vigor- 
ously, and  continued: 

"No.  But,  Foster"  —  she  regarded  him 
speculatively  —  "I  mean  to  find  out  - 

"  Ah,"  and,  with  a  look  of  resignation,  he 
settled  deeper  in  his  chair. 

"  —  with  your  help,"  proceeded  Miss  Ger- 
vaise.  '  You  boast  pretty  often  of  your  famil- 
iarity with  the  city.  Very  well;  find  the  man 
with  the  scar;  you  know  where  to  look  for 
him." 

Foster  Cole  came  as  near  emitting  a  gasp  as 
his  admirable  self-control  would  permit. 

"  Indeed  —  but  I  assure  you  I  don't.  Do  you 
suppose  he  's  waiting  about  town  to  be  nabbed  ? 
Hardly!" 

"  What  could  he  be  *  nabbed '  for? "  asked  the 
young  lady,  shrewdly. 

"  Well  —  er  —  hm-m-m  —  "  was  the  lucid 
reply. 

"  That  is  an  addition  to  the  category  of  crime 
of  which  I  have  no  knowledge,"  observed  Miss 
Gervaise. 

"Hang  it,  Edith!  do  you  really  mean  that 
you  want  me  to  go  prowling  through  the  purlieus 

[102] 


of  Williamsburg,  searching  for  a  chap  with  a 
scar  on  the  back  of  his  right  hand? " 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  at  all,  if  you  find  it  so  incon- 
venient. I  thought  —  perhaps  —  " 

"  You  know  I  '11  do  it  —  if  you  really  want 
me  to." 

"  I  would  not  now  think  of  troubling  you  so 
much.  I  daresay  Charlie  Hughes  will  do  quite 
as  well." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  go  —  and  you  knew  all  along  that 
I  would.  What  shall  I  do  with  the  beggar  if  I 
find  him? " 

Miss  Edith  smiled  with  quiet  enjoyment. 

:'  Why,  keep  him  in  sight.  Better  still,  take  an 
officer  with  you  and  let  him  do  the  —  shadowing, 
I  believe  that  is  the  technical  term." 

The  bored  look  settled  down  upon  Mr.  Cole 
like  a  cloud;  but  he  rose  without  further  demur, 
as  if  he  meant  to  start  the  search  immediately. 

The  girl  stopped  him. 

"  One  moment,  Foster.  Have  you  ever  heard 
of  a  fortune-teller  called  Leporello?  Certainly 
you  have ;  he  's  quite  a  fad  among  the  women." 

"  Leporello,"  repeated  he,  trying  hard  to  re- 
member in  what  circumstances  he  had  seen  or 

[103] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

heard  the  name.  "  I  believe  I  have,  but  I  can- 
not recall  where  or  when.  What  about  him? " 

Lines  of  gravity  deepened  in  the  girl's  fair 
face,  as  she  seemed  to  consider.  At  last,  — 

"  It  is  all  very  absurd,"  she  suddenly  said.  "  I 
am  not  a  bit  superstitious,  nor  do  I  believe  in  any 
f ol-de-rol  like  this  seer-mystic-magician  business ; 
but  —  " 

"  By  Jove!  "  exclaimed  Cole  under  his  breath; 
in  a  flash  of  memory  that  shook  his  self-possession 
he  recollected  the  business  card  which  Officer 
Spotwood  had  found,  and  which  he  had  so  care- 
lessly thrown  away. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  girl. 

Cole  did  not  answer. 

"  Foster,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  "  she 
now  sharply  demanded. 

"  Why  —  it 's  nothing  —  much.  Or,  rather, 
I  don't  really  know.  Is  this  Leporello  chap  a  — 
a  —  what  the  dickens  is  he?  " 

Miss  Gervaise  viewed  this  display  of  inco- 
herency  with  considerable  surprise. 

"  A  seer,"  replied  she,  with  some  constraint, 
**  a  mystic,  a  palmist,  a  crystal-gazer  —  " 

"  There,  there,  that  will  do,"  interrupted  the 

[104] 


MISS   GERVAISE   RECOLLECTS 

young  man ;  "  I  have  sufficient  data,  I  believe, 
to  gauge  his  calibre  correctly.  Does  this  modern 
Merlin  know  Dorothy?  " 

"  If  you  will  let  me  tell  you  what  I  started  to, 
you  may  decide  for  yourself." 

Mr.  Cole  quietly  sat  down  again. 


[105] 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A   MAGIC   REVELATION 

A>  I  said,  Leporello  is  a  fad  with  the  Wil- 
liamsburg  women,"  resumed  Miss  Edith, 
"  and  it  is  quite  the  thing  to  secure  a  reading. 
He  has  never  had  an  opportunity  to  pry  into 
my  past  or  to  open  up  my  future  for  me  —  it 
is  owing  to  Dolly,  though,  that  he  did  n't  —  but 
from  all  accounts  he  is  able  to  perform  wonders. 

"  One  day  Dolly  and  Sallie  Kittredge  pre- 
vailed upon  me  to  accompany  them  to  this  won- 
derful seer.  It  was  all  by  way  of  a  lark,  you 
know,  and  I  consented.  Perhaps  I  was  just  a 
wee  mite  curious,  too;  at  any  rate,  I  went. 

"  A  peculiarity  about  Leporello  is  that  he  will 
not  show  himself;  nobody  has  ever  seen  him. 
The  room  in  which  he  gives  his  readings  is 
draped  in  black  plush,  dimly  lighted,  and  cur- 
tains are  so  arranged  about  a  small  alcove  where 
he  sits  that  he  appears  only  as  a  dim,  indistin- 
guishable shadow.  It  is  very  mysterious,  done 

[106] 


A  MAGIC  REVELATION 

for  effect,  I  suppose;  but  the  fact  is  that  none 
of  his  callers  has  ever  seen  enough  of  him  to 
gather  any  idea  of  his  personal  appearance. 
Before  the  alcove  a  brass  tripod  on  a  tiny  ebony 
table  supports  a  crystal,  and  while  a  shaft  of 
light  shines  directly  upon  it,  neither  the  alcove 
beyond  nor  the  rest  of  the  apartment  shares  in 
the  illumination.  In  fact,  that  radiant  crystal 
sphere  is  in  a  way  a  barrier  —  a  veil  —  between 
the  seer  and  his  callers.  You  sit  on  one  side  of 
the  table  and  are  sensible  only  of  a  shadowy,  mys- 
terious presence  confronting  you  on  the  other. 

'  Well,  that  is  what  we  three  girls  were  ushered 
into.  For  a  time  we  stood  breathless,  holding 
tight  to  one  another,  in  the  midst  of  a  blackness 
that  was  relieved  only  by  the  shining  crystal. 

"  But  by  degrees  our  eyes  became  accustomed 
to  the  dim  light,  whose  ghostliness  was  empha- 
sized by  the  funereal  tapestries  and  the  unbroken 
stillness  of  the  place,  and  we  could  see  what  I 
have  attempted  to  describe  to  you  —  all  except 
Leporello.  We  were  not  aware  of  his  presence 
until  he  addressed  us. 

"  His  first  words  —  he  spoke  so  unexpectedly 
and  in  such  a  matter-of-fact  way  from  the  dark- 

[107] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ened  alcove  —  made  us  all  jump.  Sallie,  the 
idiot,  screamed,  and  then  fell  to  giggling  so  that 
the  seer  rebuked  her.  He  said  something  about 
a  disturbing  element  that  negatived  the  positive 
influence  of  the  ether  waves,  and  Sallie,  poor 
child,  almost  cried  when  she  comprehended  that 
she  must  leave  the  room. 

'  I  am  en  rapport  writh  Dorothy  Day,'  he 
suddenly  surprised  us  by  saying,  —  we  had  n't 
given  our  names  to  the  pretty  soubrette  who 
received  us,  you  must  know  —  and  then  he 
went  on: 

" '  The  invisible  forces  manifesting  them- 
selves through  the  violet  end  of  the  spectrum 
indicate  an  extraordinary  message  which  I  think 
can  be  more  satisfactorily  imparted  by  means  of 
the  crystal  than  the  trance:  shall  Miss  Day 
choose? ' 

" '  The  crystal,  by  all  means,'  gasped  Dorothy." 

"  This  is  immensely  interesting,"  Cole  inter- 
rupted ;  "  but  has  it  anything  to  do  with  Dor- 
othy's disappearance? " 

"  Dear  me !  where  is  that  admirable  imper- 
turbability of  yours?  Can  you  not  wait?  I  do 
not  know  that  it  has  anything  whatever  to  do 

[108] 


A  MAGIC  REVELATION 

with  last  night;  but  it  is  at  least  curious  in  the 
light  of  what  has  happened,  and  I  want  some- 
body else  besides  myself  to  puzzle  over  it.  Pray 
do  not  interrupt  me  again." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  am 
free  to  confess  that  my  curiosity  is  soaring  close 
to  a  hundred  in  the  shade." 

:<  Well,  now,  you  have  made  me  forget  where 
I  was,"  complained  the  girl. 

"  Dorothy  chose  the  crystal  — "  prompted 
Cole. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Then  Leporello  said :  '  I  would 
suggest  that  Miss  Gervaise  withdraw,  for  the 
thought  vibrations  are  so  perfectly  attuned  that 
I  apprehend  a  most  searching  revelation.  It  is 
better  to  eliminate  all  discordant  influences.  But 
it  is  for  Miss  Day  to  decide.' 

"  Foster,  after  that  I  would  not  have  deserted 
Dolly  for  worlds.  Besides,  the  dear  girl  would 
not  hear  of  it.  And,  anyhow,  I  am  not  a 
*  disturbing  influence,'  like  Sallie  Kittredge  — 
am  I?" 

Miss  Edith  paused  for  a  reply,  but  none  was 
forthcoming.  Cole  merely  stirred  uneasily,  and 
in  a  moment  the  girl  asked, 

[109] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"Doesn't  that  describe  her  to  a  dot?"  im- 
plying an  opinion  which  he  did  not  now  hesitate 
to  endorse  promptly. 

"  So  Dorothy  took  a  chair  before  the  crystal,'* 
proceeded  Miss  Edith,  apparently  satisfied,  "  a 
big  carved  chair  —  black,  like  everything  else  — 
the  arms  of  which  were  wrought  all  over  with 
outlines  of  hideous  scaly  dragons  with  gaping 
jaws,  and  the  legs  with  their  claws.  I  was  then 
admonished  not  to  stir  or  utter  a  sound  under 
penalty  of  being  sent  to  join  poor  Sallie  and 
the  pretty  little  French  creature  in  the  receiving- 
room. 

"  I  was  as  still  as  a  mouse  during  the  long 
silence  that  followed.  And,  Foster,  you  should 
have  seen  Dolly  in  that  fantastic  chair.  Her 
beautiful  blond  head  and  pale  face  against  the 
high  back,  the  dragons'  fangs  beneath  her  deli- 
cate little  hands,  the  creepy  light  and  all,  pro- 
duced a  contrast  that  would  have  delighted  the 
soul  of  a  painter. 

"  Well !  The  pause  that  ensued  was  as  lulling 
as  a  nocturne.  I  wras  not  drowsy  —  not  at  all; 
but  I  was  content  simply  to  sit  there  motionless 
and  watch  Dolly  —  and  wait. 

[no] 


"Lecomte,  old  chap,  forgive  me,  but  we  had  better  thresh 
this  thing  out  together."  [Page  40] 


A  MAGIC  REVELATION 

"  After  a  while  the  mystic  spoke  again.  Now 
his  voice  was  dreamy,  low,  peculiarly  musical, 
as  of  one  unconsciously  uttering  his  thoughts. 
To  me  his  words  were  the  merest  gibberish;  I 
suppose  they  conveyed  an  allegory,  but  without 
the  key  it  is  meaningless.  Besides,  I  was  more 
intent  on  watching  Dolly  than  listening  to  what 
the  mysterious  man  had  to  say,  and  he  did  not 
fix  my  attention  until  all  at  once  I  realized  that 
something  in  his  queer  recital  had  startled  her. 
She  suddenly  leaned  forward,  tense,  alert  —  al- 
most alarmed,  I  should  say  —  and  was  striving 
to  penetrate  the  gloom  that  hid  Leporello." 

"  But  what  was  it  the  beggar  told  her? "  que- 
ried Cole,  with  no  pretense  now  of  hiding  his 
interest. 

"  Let  me  tell  it  in  my  own  way,  Foster;  if 
there  is  really  any  important  significance  in  the 
episode,  you  must  have  all  the  details  just  as  they 
occurred. 

"  He  painted  a  vivid  word  picture  of  a  sort  of 
enchanted  garden  —  an  Eden  —  in  the  midst  of 
which  was  a  beautiful  young  girl  who  was  up- 
lifted by  longings  and  aspirations  which  could 
never  be  realized  until  a  certain  thing  happened; 

[in] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

what  that  was  —  if  his  fanciful  imagery  really 
alluded  to  it  —  I  do  not  now  know.  Then  the 
scene  changed. 

'  The  girl  was  at  college.  She  was  no  longer 
alone,  for  a  young  man  had  become  her  constant 
companion,  and  it  was  through  him  that  her 
ambitions  were  to  be  fulfilled. 

"  It  was  at  this  point  that  Dolly  suddenly 
manifested  a  quickened  interest,  and  my  recol- 
lection of  the  rest  of  the  so-called  revelation, 
up  to  the  time  she  stopped  it,  is  much  clearer. 
'  Again  the  scene  shifts,'  said  the  seer.  '  We 
are  now  among  high  mountains,  and  it  is  night. 
I  see  a  cave  whose  mammoth  proportions  the 
fitful  gleam  of  a  myriad  torches  does  not  define. 
A  fire  burns  upon  a  stone  altar,  and  all  about 
it,  in  a  wide  circle,  stand  many  strange  figures 
in  cloaks  and  masks  of  yellow.  They  are  fea- 
tureless —  motionless  —  silent  - —  phantasmal. 

"  *  The  girl  and  her  companion  approach.  She 
is  trembling,  and  he  is  trying  to  quiet  her,  to 
calm  her  fears  — ' 

"  At  that  instant  Dolly  abruptly  rose  to  her 
feet,  laughing  nervously  and  clinging  to  the 
back  of  the  chair. 

[112] 


A  MAGIC   REVELATION 

" '  This  is  too  utterly  ridiculous !  *  she  ex- 
claimed. *  You  have  told  me  quite  enough,  Sir 
Mystic ;  I  —  I  —  don't  care  for  any  more.' 

"  Foster,  I  never  saw  Dolly's  self-possession 
so  shaken. 

"  *  Just  as  Miss  Day  decides,'  Leporello  re- 
turned, as  indifferently  as  you  please.  '  But  I 
would  advise  her  to  hear  me  out.' 

"  I  knew  that  Dolly  was  anxious  to  get 
away.  She  laughed  again,  in  an  agitated  way, 
saying, 

"  '  I  have  no  wish  to,  even  if  I  had  the  time ';, 
and  turning  to  me,  — '  Come,  Edie.' 

"  We  moved  toward  the  door  until  the  voice 
from  the  alcove  checked  us. 

" '  Just  a  moment,  Miss  Day,'  said  the  seer,. 
'  and  you  may  depart.'  Dolly  hesitated,  holding 
my  hand  in  a  tight  grasp  —  her  own  was  trem- 
bling —  and  Leporello  went  on : 

'  The  manifestation  is  so  persistent  that  it 
is  really  to  be  deplored  that  sympathetic  con- 
ditions cannot  prevail  until  the  message  is  im- 
parted; the  invisible  forces,  however,  are  unable 
to  overcome  antagonistic  influences  of  the  mind, 
and  I  cannot  perform  the  impossible. 
8  [1131 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

'  However,  Miss  Day,  I  must  not  let  you  go 
until  I  have  disclosed  one  thing  more/ 

"  Listen  closely  now,  Foster. 

" '  Throughout  the  reading,'  Leporello  went 
on,  '  I  have  been  sensible  of  an  atmosphere  of 
danger  —  perhaps  of  warning ;  it  is  difficult  to 
define.  Had  you  permitted  the  forces  to  con- 
summate the  purpose  for  which  their  humble 
servant  invoked  them,  I  might  —  aye,  certainly 
would  —  have  been  more  specific  on  this  point. 
Still  it  is  very  clear  that  a  warning  was  intended, 
which  is  exceedingly  rare  unless  the  danger  im- 
pending is  extraordinary.' 

"  At  his  last  words  Dolly  swayed  closer  to 
me  and  her  grasp  on  my  hand  tightened.  You 
may  believe  that  I  was  all  attention  now,  though 
I  did  n't  understand  a  thing  of  what  was  going 
on;  but  I  passed  my  arm  around  her  waist  to 
assure  her  that  the  goblins  would  n't  get  her 
while  I  was  with  her,  whatever  else  might 
happen. 

"  Of  a  sudden  the  seer's  hand  was  extended 
into  the  beam  of  light  that  played  upon  the 
crystal.  It  was  an  unusual  hand,  Foster,  — 
light  brown  and  slender,  while  the  fingers  were 


A  MAGIC   REVELATION 

remarkably  long,  tapering,  and  sensitive.  Then 
abruptly  the  radiance  in  the  crystal  turned  to 
a  blood  red,  and  the  voice  said: 

'  Is  there  any  serious  obligation  laid  upon 
you?  Then  do  not  seek  to  avoid  it.  If  there 
is  a  duty  to  be  performed,  do  not  hesitate,  or  a 
very  great  and  immediate  danger  threatens  — 
perhaps  yourself,  perhaps  some  one  very  dear 
to  you.  I  cannot  say.  Farewell/ 

"  In  another  moment  we  were  with  Sallie, 
and,  oh,  it  was  good  to  see  the  sunlight  again? 
Sallie  immediately  bubbled  over  with  questions 
which  Dolly  answered  lightly,  though  her  lips 
were  white,  her  face  pale,  and  her  eyes  unnatu- 
rally bright. 

"  '  A  warning ! '  she  cried,  with  affected  gaiety, 
to  one  of  Sallie  Kittredge's  foolish  questions; 
*a  great  danger  threatens  me.'  She  laughed; 
but  she  shivered,  too. 

" '  Dieu  vous  en  garde,  Mademoiselle! '  ex- 
claimed the  pretty  little  French  maid,  making 
the  sign  of  the  cross.  *  If  Monsieur  Leporello 
has  said  it,  it  is  true.' 

"  She  was  so  solemn  that  I  laughed. 

"  'Do  you  really  believe  that? '  I  asked  her. 

[115] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  *  Certcdnement  que  j'y  crois  —  it  is  always 
so,'  she  replied  so  soberly  that  all  desire  to  laugh 
just  oozed  right  out  of  me.  Even  the  '  disturb- 
ing influence  '  forgot  her  indignation  and  quieted 
down." 

"And  what  do  you  make  of  it  all?"  inquired 
Mr.  Cole,  when  she  had  finished. 

"  Nothing,  I  am  afraid.  The  details  which 
brought  the  episode  forcibly  to  mind  after  last 
night's  occurrence  are  that  this  fortune-teller, 
however  sceptical  we  may  be  of  his  methods,  as- 
suredly touched  upon  something  affecting  Dolly 
of  which  even  her  intimate  friends  are  ignorant, 
and  conveyed  a  warning  which,  in  spite  of  all 
her  efforts  to  laugh  it  away,  nevertheless  im- 
pressed her  profoundly.  I  wonder  whether  she 
would  have  allowed  the  seer  to  complete  the 
revelation  if  she  had  been  alone?" 

Cole  was  in  a  deep  study,  and  he  did  not 
accept  this  invitation  to  theorize.  After  a  long 
wait  the  girl  stirred  impatiently. 

"Goodness,  Foster!  don't  sit  there  like  a 
bump  on  a  log.  Say  something!  " 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  Edith,  this  is  the  queerest  mess  I  ever  heard 

[116] 


A  MAGIC  REVELATION 

of,"  said  he,  wonderingly;  "let  me  have  time 
to  think  it  over." 

'  Very  well.  I  trust  the  process  will  not  be 
too  intricate.  I  suppose,  then,  I  shall  have  to 
send  for  Charlie  Hughes  after  all  —  if  I  want 
to  find  my  man  with  the  scar." 

All  of  Cole's  admirable  indifference  had  van- 
ished. The  two  had  moved  toward  the  door,  and 
now  he  caught  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Let  me  make  an  effort  at  clearing  up  this 
thing,"  said  he.  c  You  have  confidence  enough 
in  me,  have  n't  you,  to  know  that  I  can  accom- 
plish something  if  I  try?  " 

She  returned  no  answer,  but  searched  his  eyes 
with  her  own  —  a  little  wistfully,  if  Cole  had 
but  known  it. 

'  You  are  thinking  that  I  have  never  tried  to 
do  anything,"  he  went  on  in  a  moment;  "  but  I 
am  going  to  —  now  —  for  you." 

With  a  sudden  movement  she  freed  her  hands, 
and,  laughing,  gave  him  a  little  shove  away  from 
her. 

"  Silly!  If  you  stand  here  all  day  I  certainly 
have  to  call  on  —  call  on  some  one  else." 

He  hastened  down  the  steps  and  away. 

[1171 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Cole  had  not  proceeded  far  until  he  encoun- 
tered a  prowling  taxicab,  which  he  deflected  to 
the  curb  with  a  motion  of  his  stick. 

"  Go  straight  ahead  till  I  tell  you  to  turn 
around  and  come  back,"  he  directed.  Filled 
with  a  high  spirit  of  resolve  to  do,  but  by  no 
means  clear  in  his  mind  as  to  how  he  was  going 
to  start  about  doing  it,  he  dropped  upon  the 
cushions. 

"  Confound  Charlie  Hughes ! "  he  savagely 
growled.  "  And  dashed  if  I  take  any  officer 
with  me,  either!  Why,  if  I  can't  play  this 
hand  alone  I  might  as  well  keep  out  of  the  game 
entirely."  And  he  settled  down  to  a  period  of 
good,  hard  thinking. 


[118] 


CHAPTER   IX 

MISS   GERVAISE   TAKES   A   HAND 

THE  surprising  developments  of  the  past 
few  hours,  the  unforeseen  divagations  char- 
acterizing the  events  during  that  time,  had  so 
filled  Cole's  mind  that  he  quite  forgot  his  de- 
termination to  pay  Miss  Letitia  Leonard,  Dor- 
othy Day's  aunt,  a  call. 

It  was,  doubtless,  just  as  well  that  he  did 
forget  this  particular  detail  of  the  rather  vague 
programme  he  had  mapped  out  for  himself  ear- 
lier in  the  morning;  for  Miss  Gervaise  had 
formed  an  identical  determination.  The  under- 
taking by  her  would  be  more  likely  to  yield 
results  of  value,  and  the  instant  Cole  departed 
she  prepared  to  go  out. 

But  right  here  must  be  mentioned  at  some 
length  a  condition  affecting  Miss  Edith's  re- 
solve to  call  upon  the  maiden  aunt. 

While  Lecomte  Gibbs,  Foster  Cole,  and  the 
remainder  of  Miss  Day's  acquaintances  had  never 

[119] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

been  inspired  by  the  elderly  duenna  with  any 
considerable  regard  for  her  importance,  quite  a 
different  impression  had  been  produced  in  Miss 
Edith  Gervaise's  mind.  It  was  natural,  the  ob- 
vious thing  to  do,  to  regard  the  delicate  appear- 
ing little  lady,  with  the  bobbing  gray  curls  and 
tremulous  manner,  simply  as  a  necessary  adjunct 
to  Miss  Day's  menage;  her  presence  or  the  mere 
assurance  of  her  being  somewhere  in  the  back- 
ground was  a  sufficient  deference  to  the  proprie- 
ties, and  this  constituted  the  sum  total  of  her 
consequence. 

Miss  Edith,  however,  had  been  affected  far 
differently  by  Miss  Letitia.  Perhaps  because 
she  was  Dorothy  Day's  closest  friend  she  had 
been  afforded  greater  opportunities  of  observing 
the  older  lady,  and  what  she  had  observed  had 
produced  a  peculiar,  if  not  a  surprising,  result; 
the  two  were  barely  civil  to  each  other.  Women 
are  quick  to  read  one  another  where  their  inter- 
ests are  concerned:  Edith  Gervaise  had  turned 
her  luminous  eyes  upon  Miss  Letitia,  and  what 
she  read  had  made  her  uneasy. 

It  may  be  that  she  read  wrongly;  but  in  frail 
Letitia  Leonard  she  discerned  a  force,  an  im- 

[120] 


MISS   GERVAISE  TAKES  A  HAND 

pulse,  inimical  to  her  friend;  a  potentiality  none 
the  less  dangerous  by  reason  of  its  being  veiled. 

That  timid,  nervous  little  old  body  a  menace 
to  Dolly?  It  was,  in  all  conscience,  too  absurd 
to  think  of.  Yet  Miss  Edith  had  thought  of 
it  a  good  deal  in  the  past,  and  now,  since  last 
night,  the  disturbing  idea  had  returned  to  color 
all  her  meditations;  in  her  fancy  Kehama 
frowned  at  her  from  behind  Letitia  Leonard's 
features. 

Every  one  of  us  has  at  one  time  or  another 
met  individuals  with  whose  words  and  conduct 
we  can  find  no  definite,  plausible  fault,  yet  whom 
we  instinctively  distrust;  we  constantly  maintain 
in  their  presence,  even  without  being  conscious 
of  so  doing,  an  alert  vigilance;  and  we  can  read 
in  their  eyes  that  they  are  just  as  constantly 
alert,  biding  their  time  with  infinite  patience, 
to  catch  us  off  our  guard.  It  may  not  be  so, 
but  such  is  the  feeling  that  some  people  provoke. 

And  so  it  was  with  Edith  Gervaise  and  Miss 
Letitia. 

Indeed,  why  should  the  old  lady  wish  her 
niece  ill?  The  problem  was  unfathomable. 
Edith  could  only  think  of  envy;  granting  the 

[ml 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

woman's  disposition  as  being  bad,  a  mercenary 
motive  would  never  be  controlled  by  moral  ob- 
ligation alone.  Once,  in  the  privacy  of  Doro- 
thy's boudoir,  Miss  Gervaise  had  ventured  a 
hint  of  her  misgivings;  but  the  scornful  glee 
that  met  the  attempt  silenced  her  tongue  for- 
ever after  on  this  one  topic. 

And  now  another  curious  circumstance:  while 
she  and  Dorothy  were  descending  from  that  con- 
fidence, it  was  neither  nice  nor  pleasant  to  think 
that  she  had  been  spied  upon;  but  how  else  was 
she  to  account  for  the  hostility  in  the  faded  blue 
eyes  when  they  met  hers? 

However  that  may  be,  from  that  moment  she 
was  poignantly  sensible  of  the  fact  that  the 
woman's  attitude  was  one  of  extreme  caution 
and  watchfulness  when  in  her  presence. 

Edith  had  resolved  to  discover,  if  she  could, 
whether  Letitia  Leonard  knew  aught  of  her 
niece's  disappearance.  Being  able  now  to  sur- 
mise the  frame  of  mind  in  which  these  two  ladies 
were  likely  to  meet,  it  is  fair  to  hazard  that 
Miss  Edith's  task  was  not  to  be  a  simple  one. 

But  events  fell  out  differently  from  what  she 
could  by  any  possibility  have  anticipated. 

[122] 


MISS   GERVAISE   TAKES  A  HAND 

There  was  one  other  member  of  Miss  Day's 
household  whose  presence  there  was  always  re- 
assuring whenever  Miss  Edith  was  assailed  by 
doubts  of  the  aunt.  This  was  an  elderly  spin- 
ster, Sarah  Kemp  by  name,  and  —  if  the  nu- 
merous signals  which  she  constantly  displayed 
were  to  be  believed  —  a  virago  by  nature.  She 
was  the  very  antithesis  of  Miss  Leonard.  Tall, 
gaunt,  big-boned;  with  eyes  deep-set,  black,  and 
burning,  a  forbidding  countenance  and  a  wasp- 
ish utterance,  Sarah  Kemp  was  an  awe-inspiring 
figure  likely  to  strike  terror  to  the  hearts  of 
timid  souls. 

It  will  be  sufficient  here  to  state  that  this 
extraordinary  wToman's  association  with  Miss 
Day  began  with  the  girl's  birth;  she  had  been 
her  mother's  playmate  when  the  latter  was  a 
girl. 

In  a  very  short  time  after  Mr.  Cole's  depart- 
ure a  smart  scarlet  runabout  was  waiting  at  the 
front  door;  in  no  time  at  all  wrorth  mention- 
ing Miss  Edith  sat  with  the  steering-wheel  in 
her  small  gauntleted  hands,  and  the  gay  equi- 
page was  purring  merrily  away  over  the  invit- 
ing asphalt  toward  Miss  Day's. 

[123] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Sarah  Kemp  herself  opened  the  door,  and  the 
instant  she  recognized  the  caller  the  forbidding 
look  melted  from  her  eyes,  the  sternness  from 
her  harsh  countenance,  and  she  surprised  Miss 
Edith  by  bursting  suddenly  into  tears. 

"  Why,  Sarah ! "  exclaimed  that  young  lady. 
"What's  the  matter!" 

Miss  Kemp  was  much  too  strong-minded  to 
yield  to  any  ordinary  emotion,  and  Miss  Edith 
had  never  regarded  her  otherwise  than  as  an  ex- 
emplar of  austere  inflexibility,  with  maybe  one 
tender  corner  in  her  heart  which  she  never  for 
an  instant  permitted  to  reveal  itself. 

So  she  stared  at  this  new,  this  unfamiliar 
Sarah  Kemp  until  the  old  lady  reached  forth 
a  hand  and  drew  her,  not  very  gently,  across 
the  threshold. 

"  Excuse  the  liberty,  Miss  Gervaise,"  the  gaunt 
housekeeper  articulated  between  sobs,  "  but  I 
could  n't  stand  there  in  the  open  door  and  make 
a  holy  show  of  myself  for  the  benefit  of  Mrs. 
Whitelock's  Rogers  across  the  way,  watching  not 
to  miss  anything  that  goes  on  in  this  house. 

"  And  —  say  what  you  will,  Miss  Gervaise  — 
this  is  a  house  of  sorrow.  I  have  managed  to 

[124] 


MISS   GERVAISE   TAKES  A  HAND 

keep  a  bold  front  —  just  as  though  everything 
was  as  it  should  be  —  till  I  saw  you,  and  then 
I  simply  could  n't  help  it.  Oh,  it 's  hard  for 
an  old  woman  like  me !  I  'm  so  glad,  so  glad 
you  Ve  come,  Miss  Gervaise  —  so  glad !  " 

Edith  strove  sturdily  to  quiet  the  poor  soul, 
though  she  was  very  near  to  tears  herself. 

"Do  not  worry,  Sarah;  we  cannot  help  mat- 
ters at  all  in  that  way.  I  and  all  the  rest  of 
Dorothy's  friends  are  doing  everything  we  can 
to  find  her  and  bring  her  back  again  —  or  at  least 
to  discover  what  took  her  away  so  strangely  — 
and  I  am  sure  we  shall  succeed.  You  must 
help  us  —  you  and  Miss  Letitia.  Where  is 
she?" 

Tears  were  so  foreign  to  Miss  Kemp's  nature 
that  she  quite  succeeded  in  calming  herself  by 
the  time  Miss  Edith  had  finished,  and  at  the 
mention  of  Miss  Letitia  the  severe  features  fell 
into  grim  lines. 

"  What  is  it? "  cried  the  girl  in  alarm  at  this 
sudden  change. 

Now  Sarah  Kemp's  conduct  before  replying 
was  of  a  nature  further  to  inspire  fear  in  her 
caller.  She  peered  over  her  shoulder  down  the 

[125] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

hall  and  tiptoed  with  infinite  caution  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  where  she  paused,  her  gray  head 
cocked  in  a  strained  attitude  of  listening.  After 
a  pause,  during  which  Edith  could  almost  hear 
her  own  heart  beat,  she  tiptoed  back  again  to 
the  girl  and  whispered  into  her  ear: 

"She  prowls!" 

"  Prowls !  "  gasped  Edith,  her  own  voice  sub- 
dued to  a  whisper  by  the  other's  manner. 

Sarah  Kemp,  after  another  furtive  glance 
over  her  shoulder,  nodded  with  vigor. 

"  Prowls,"  she  repeated,  "  like  a  cat ;  she  's  at 
it  all  the  time.  If  you  will  come  to  my  room 
with  me,  Miss  Gervaise,  I  '11  tell  you  about  it.'* 


[126] 


CHAPTER   X 

IN   THE  DEAD   OF   NIGHT 

riHOO  astonished  to  speak,  Miss  Edith  signi- 
-*•  fied  by  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head  her 
willingness  to  follow  the  housekeeper.  Sarah 
Kemp  conducted  her  up  to  the  third  story  to  a 
cosey,  snowy-curtained  room  overlooking  the 
street,  where,  after  closing  the  door  and  mak- 
ing sure  that  it  was  fast,  she  invited  the  girl  to 
be  seated. 

"  It  is  n't  often  that  I  have  Dorothy's  friends 
up  here,"  she  began,  by  way  of  apology,  "  but 
I  know  you  won't  mind  it,  Miss  Gervaise.  .  .  . 
Oh,  I  want  my  baby!"  she  abruptly  wailed. 
"  My  poor  lamb!  Where  is  she!  where  is  she!  " 

"  Try  not  to  fret  so,  Sarah,"  Miss  Edith  said 
soothingly;  "  for  Dorothy  is  not  a  baby,  but  is 
quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself.  Ex- 
plain about  Miss  Letitia." 

Miss  Kemp's  recoveries  of  her  composure  were 
quite  as  abrupt  as  her  outbursts.  She  folded  her 

[127] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

bands  primly  in  her  lap  and  her  thin  lips  closed 
in  a  straight,  uncompromising  line.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  grotesque  anomaly  of  the  concep- 
tion, Miss  Edith  would  have  imagined  that  the 
bare  mention  of  the  timid  little  old-maid  aunt's 
name  was  sufficient  to  strike  terror  to  the  aus- 
tere housekeeper's  heart.  Her  agitation  could 
not  be  attributed  to  nerves;  rather,  it  was  Miss 
Letitia  who  was  perpetually  thus  afflicted.  Still 
it  was  patent  that  some  other  worry  besides  anx- 
iety for  her  young  mistress  preyed  upon  the  old 
lady's  mind.  That  it  had  to  do  with  Letitia  Leon- 
ard only  served  to  whet  Miss  Edith's  curiosity. 

The  housekeeper's  harsh  voice  was  measurably 
lowered  when  she  spoke  again. 

'  There 's  the  strangest  goings  on  in  this 
house,  Miss  Gervaise.  It 's  not  for  me  to  criti- 
cise or  find  fault  —  Heaven  forbid !  —  but  I  am 
free  to  say  that  if  my  poor  lamb  only  knew 
some  of  the  things  that  happen  behind  her  back, 
why,  they  would  be  different,  so  they  \vould." 

"  Oh,  Sarah,  please  try  to  be  more  explicit! " 
It  was  becoming  no  easy  task  for  Miss  Edith 
to  hide  her  impatience.  '  Tell  me  what  things 
you  mean." 

[1281 


IN  THE  DEAD   OF  NIGHT 

But  Miss  Kemp,  her  intense  eyes  smoulder- 
ing fire,  her  lips  tightly  compressed,  her  hands 
still  primly  folded  in  her  lap,  merely  nodded 
her  head  with  an  air  of  vast  knowledge,  which 
was  exceedingly  exasperating  to  the  curious 
girl. 

"  Come,  Sarah,"  Edith  coaxed,  "  tell  me.  You 
know  I  love  Dolly,  that  I  would  do  anything  in 
the  world  for  her.  If  we  mean  to  help  her  now, 
we  must  act  solely  on  our  own  judgments,  with- 
out consulting  her  probable  wishes.  If  matters 
of  a  private  nature  are  to  be  touched  upon,  is  n't 
it  far  better  that  they  should  be  confided  to  those 
who  have  her  interests  nearest  at  heart?  Surely! 
Oh,  Sarah,  pray  keep  nothing  back!" 

"  It 's  not  that  I  don't  trust  you,  Miss  Ger- 
vaise,"  came  in  response  to  this  warm-hearted 
appeal.  "  Dorothy  thought  a  sight  of  you,  and 
I  'd  sooner  tell  you  than  anybody  else.  But  what 
are  we  going  to  do?"  she  fervently  demanded. 
"  What  can  we  do?  Why,  that  —  that  old  cat 
has  already  been  hinting  that  I  had  better  go  — 
I!  Think  of  it!" 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath  and,  leaning  for- 
ward, clasped  her  hands  around  one  knee. 
»  [  129  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Now  see  here,  Sarah,  you  must  tell  me  all 
about  it,"  she  said  with  sudden  decision  —  "  what 
do  you  mean  by  '  prowlings  '  and  '  queer  goings 
on'?" 

;<  Well,  Miss  Gervaise,  it 's  terrible  hard  to  do. 
Somehow  the  things  that  appeared  so  suspicious 
to  me  don't  seem  so  when  I  start  to  tell  about 
them.  It  was  for  the  same  reason  that  I  never 
said  nothing  to  Dorothy ;  I  was  afraid  she  'd 
laugh  and  think  me  a  fussy,  nervous  old  busy- 
body, like  some  others  I  might  mention.  I 
reckon  it 's  because  one  thing  alone  don't  amount 
to  much;  but  taking  them  all  together,  why, 
they  do. 

'  You  know  Miss  Leonard  is  not  very  strong. 
Leastwise  she  is  always  complaining  of  her 
nerves,  or  one  thing  and  another;  so  I  can't  say 
I  was  much  surprised  the  first  time  I  caught  her 
snooping  around  after  everybody  else  had  gone 
to  bed. 

"  It  happened  away  back  early  in  the  Spring. 
I  had  had  a  bad  night  myself,  and  along  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  slipped  downstairs 
after  the  camphor  bottle.  I  had  got  into  my 
felt  slippers,  as  I  didn't  want  to  disturb  any- 

[130] 


IN  THE  DEAD   OF  NIGHT 

body,  and  I  didn't  make  as  much  noise  as  a 
mouse  would. 

"  I  found  the  bottle  in  the  second-story  bath- 
room cupboard,  where  I  knew  it  ought  to  be  if 
it  was  n't,  but  thank  goodness  it  was,  and  I  had 
just  stepped  into  the  hall  again,  when  of  a 
sudden  I  stood  stock-still  and  listened.  Miss 
Gervaise,  I  would  have  taken  my  solemn  oath 
that  I  heard  the  click  the  front-door  latch  makes 
when  the  door  is  closed  to. 

"  Of  course  I  thought  right  away  of  burglars. 
I  knew  everybody  was  in  the  house,  for,  as  you 
know  yourself,  the  last  thing  I  have  done  at 
nights  for  these  many  years  has  been  to  try  all 
the  doors  and  windows  to  make  sure  they  were 
fast. 

"  I  blew  out  the  little  night-lamp  I  was  carry- 
ing, and  right  away  I  saw  on  the  stairway  the 
reflection  of  a  moving  light  in  the  hall  below. 
The  light  bobbed  and  grew  dimmer,  as  though 
wrhoever  was  carrying  it  was  walking  down  the 
hall  towards  the  rear  of  the  house. 

"  Next  I  stole  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
peered  over  the  banisters,  and  I  was  mightily 
relieved  to  see  that  it  was  only  Miss  Leonard. 

[131] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

*  That  is  to  say,  Miss  Gervaise,  I  was  mightily 
relieved  at  first.  I  had  only  a  glimpse  of  her, 
for  she  was  opening  the  blue-room  door  when  I 
peeped  down  at  her,  and  that  same  instant  she 
disappeared  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her  and  leaving  me  in  darkness. 

"  But  when  I  got  back  to  my  own  room  once 
more  some  things  that  I  had  n't  thought  much 
of  at  the  time  kept  whirligigging  around  in  my 
mind. 

"  First  of  all,  there  was  the  click  of  the  front- 
door latch ;  I  Ve  heard  it  too  often  not  to  know 
it,  and  it  was  quite  as  strange  that  Miss  Leonard 
should  have  had  the  door  open  as  if  it  had  really 
been  done  by  burglars.  I  remembered,  too,  that 
she  was  fully  dressed  for  the  street;  wiiere  had 
she  —  of  all  persons  —  been  at  that  time  of 
night?  And  then,  what  did  she  want  in  the 
blue-room?  It 's  used  only  when  Dorothy  has 
a  houseful  of  company,  and  I  could  n't  think 
of  a  single  thing  that  would  call  one  of  us  in 
there  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  I  became  so 
wrought  up  that  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  till 
daybreak. 

"  But  still,  Miss  Gervaise,  I  might  have  for- 

[132] 


IN  THE   DEAD   OF  NIGHT 

gotten  the  queerness  of  what  I  had  seen  and 
heard  if  it  had  n't  been  for  the  way  Miss  Leonard 
took  it  when  I  mentioned  it  next  morning. 

'  Did  you  pass  a  comfortable  night  last  night, 
Miss  Leonard  ? '  says  I ;  for,  after  all,  she  's  a 
part  of  my  own  dear  lamb's  household,  and  I  Ve 
always  made  it  a  point  to  be  civil  with  her. 

*  No,'  says  she ;  '  I  don't  know  what  it  means 
any  more  to  pass  a  comfortable  night.' 

'  I  Ve  heard  say,'  says  I,  '  that  a  walk  in 
the  night  air  is  good  for  wrakef ulness ;  but  if  I 
had  n't  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,'  says  I,  '  I 
would  never  have  believed  that  you  would  ven- 
ture from  this  house  alone  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.' 

"  Well,  she  looked  at  me  that  queer  and  flus- 
tered that  I  thought  for  a  time  she  was  going 
to  have  one  of  her  attacks.  She  did  n't,  though ; 
she  sat  there  with  her  mouth  open  like  a  fish's, 
and  her  eyes  as  round  as  pennies. 

"'Mercy!'  says  she  after  a  bit,  in  a  sort  of 
gasp ;  '  I ?  —  outdoors ?  —  last  night? '  Then  she 
fairly  screamed  at  me:  '  Sarah  Kemp,  do  you 
mean  to  say  you  found  one  of  the  doors  open 
.while  we  were  all  asleep  ? ' 

[133] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

"  She  seemed  so  frightened  over  the  bare  idea 
that  I  really  thought  I  might  have  been  mis- 
taken after  all. 

"  But  since  that  time,  Miss  Gervaise,  I  have 
caught  her  prowling  about  long  after  the  house 
was  supposed  to  be  decently  asleep.  Once  or 
twice  when  I  have  dared  to  speak  to  her  she 
has  gone  off  in  such  a  flutter  that  I  was  always 
sorry  for  it  afterwards,  because  I  was  blamed 
for  the  spell  that  kept  her  in  bed  all  next 
day." 

The  speaker  paused,  and  her  next  words  were 
uttered  with  an  air  of  stern  condemnation. 

"  Miss  Gervaise,  it  is  my  opinion  that  a  body 
one-half  as  timid  as  Miss  Leonard  lets  on  to  be 
could  not  get  up  spunk  enough  to  go  roaming 
around  this  big  house  in  the  dead  of  night." 

"  It  does  indeed  seem  very  strange,"  the  girl 
admitted. 

But,  she  questioned  herself,  what  has  all  this 
to  do  with  Dolly  running  away?  Was  her  aunt 
the  cause  of  it?  The  idea  was  too  utterly  ridicu- 
lous. Still  it  was  plain  that  Sarah  Kemp's  sole 
anxiety  was  for  the  missing  girl,  and  that  she, 
at  least,  had  reasons  for  attributing  the  cause  of 

[134] 


IN  THE  DEAD   OF  NIGHT 

her  disappearance  to  Miss  Leonard.  That  is, 
she  had  reasons  satisfying  to  her  own  mind; 
they  merely  mystified  Eidith  when  she  ignored 
the  alternative ;  which  was  that  the  housekeeper's 
naturally  suspicious  disposition  had  been  inflamed 
by  hostility  against  the  aunt.  The  related  cir- 
cumstances, however,  were  peculiar  enough  in 
themselves  to  warrant  a  dismissal  of  the  latter 
view  of  them,  and,  instead,  to  invite  the  closest 
scrutiny.  It  was  unfortunate  that  some  person 
trained  in  solving  puzzles  could  not  hear  this 
extraordinary  recital. 

But  the  old  lady  is  speaking  again. 

"  That  is  not  all,  by  a  jugful.  She  receives 
letters  which  she  takes  mighty  good  care  no  one 
else  shall  see  —  not  even  the  envelopes.  The 
postman's  whistle  never  sounds  but  what  she  is 
right  there,  standing  on  the  top  step,  waiting  to 
get  the  mail  ahead  of  everybody  else.  Why, 
if  she  was  a  young  girl  expecting  letters  from 
a  lover,  instead  of  a  sickly,  fussy  old  maid,  she 
could  n't  be  more  anxious  to  meet  the  postman. 
I  've  tried  to  get  in  ahead  of  her.  Perhaps  she 
would  n't  be  within  sight  or  hearing  when  I  'd 
see  him  coming;  but  no;  he'd  no  sooner  turn 

[135] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

toward  our  stoop  than  she  'd  glide  in  front  of 
me,  her  hand  outstretched  to  get  whatever  there 
might  be.  Then  she  'd  stop  and  make  a  great 
show  of  looking  through  it. 

*  There  's  nothing  here  for  you,  Sarah/  she  'd 
say  in  a  surprised  way  that  made  me  feel  awful 
little.  Of  course  there  would  be  nothing  for 
me;  there  never  was;  and  that  was  her  sly  way 
of  taking  a  dig  at  me  for  what  she  thought  was 
my  meddling  curiosity. 

"  But  the  queerest  thing  of  all,  Miss  Gervaise, 
happened  a  fortnight  or  so  ago.  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  that  for  some  time  I  have  been 
keeping  my  eyes  open.  It  was  not  every  night, 
or  every  week  either,  that  I  'd  be  paid  for  my 
pains ;  but  the  time  I  refer  to  I  could  n't  make 
anything  at  all  of  what  I  saw. 

"  I  was  listening,  and  I  heard  the  click  of  the 
front  door.  There  was  not  a  sign  of  a  light, 
and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  I  was  in 
the  lower  hall,  feeling  along  the  wall  for  the  light 
buttons.  Pretty  soon  I  found  them,  and  waited 
for  whoever  it  was  to  come  in  again. 

"  Seemingly  the  house  was  sound  asleep ;  but 
this  night  I  could  n't  mistake  the  sound  I  'd 

[1361 


IN  THE   DEAD   OF  NIGHT 

heard,  for  it  was  as  plain  as  if  I  had  opened 
and  closed  the  door  myself. 

"  It  was  n't  above  a  minute  or  two  that  I  had 
to  wait,  when  the  door  opened  without  a  sound, 
then  closed  again  with  the  click,  and  I  could 
hear  somebody  breathing.  I  snapped  on  the 
hall  light. 

"  Sure  enough,  there  stood  Miss  Leonard, 
clutching  a  shawl  about  her  skinny  shoulders  and 
feeling  with  her  other  hand  for  the  newel  —  to 
get  her  bearings,  I  reckon.  The  light  made  her 
squeal  like  a  rat.  Something  dropped  from  her 
outstretched  hand  and  rolled  on  the  parquetry, 
and  she  fell  back  against  the  wall,  panting. 

"'Oh,  it's  you,  Sarah,  is  it?'  says  she  in  a 
whisper.  '  What  a  start  you  gave  me.  I  have  n't 
slept  a  wink  this  night,  and  a  while  ago  I  was 
nearly  paralyzed  with  terror  when  I  thought  I 
heard  the  front  door  open.  Oh,'  she  says,  '  I  am 
so  relieved  to  find  it 's  only  you.' 

"  '  But  you  can't  hear  the  door  open?  says 
I,  with  meaning. 

" '  Sarah,'  says  she,  '  when  one's  nerves  are 
stretched  to  the  tension  that  mine  perpetually 
are  no  sound  is  too  faint  for  one's  hearing.' 

[137] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

'  Still,'  I  kept  on,  '  you  were  n't  so  fright- 
ened but  what  you  could  come  alone  through 
the  dark  to  see  for  yourself  if  the  door  was  open. 
S'pose  it  had  been? '  says  I. 

'  Well,  she  shrivelled  and  gasped  and  shrunk 
and  wrung  her  hands  at  the  very  idea.  '  Gra- 
cious goodness ! '  she  says.  '  I  would  have  died 
with  horror;  I  would  have  died  in  bed,  lying 
there  fancying  some  one  was  stealing  in.  Pray 
don't  suggest  such  a  possibility,  Sarah ! ' 

'What  do  you  think  of  that,  Miss  Gervaise? 
There  she  was  trying  to  make  me  believe  that 
she  had  n't  been  out  at  all,  when  I  knew  as  well 
as  I  know  you  're  a  born  woman  that  she  had. 
She  had  a  right  to  go,  if  a  woman  of  her  years 
and  station  in  life  can  be  said  to  have  a  right 
to  go  trapsing  about  the  streets  at  such  ungodly 
hours ;  so  why  should  she  pretend  to  be  so  scarey 
and  try  to  make  me  think  she  'd  not  been  out- 
side at  all? 

"  *  Well,'  says  I,  finally,  *  some  folks  may  like 
to  go  prowling  around  looking  for  open  doors 
and  burglars,  but  as  for  me,  I  'd  rather  die  — 
if  so  be  it  I  have  to  —  with  the  covers  tucked 
decently  over  my  head.' 

[138] 


IN   THE   DEAD   OF  NIGHT 

"  She  fairly  ran  upstairs  to  her  room  after 
that. 

"  Now  then,  early  last  night  when  everybody 
was  supposed  to  be  at  the  church,  who  should 
come  slipping  in  but  Miss  Leonard.  I  could  n't 
go  myself  because  no  hands  but  mine  could  touch 
my  dear  lamb's  things,  and  I  was  busy  packing 
them  against  the  going  away.  And  I  know, 
Miss  Gervaise,  that  she  tried  to  get  in  without 
me  hearing  her.  She  went  to  the  blue-room,  as 
I  'd  seen  her  do  once  before,  and  then  pretty 
soon  she  came  tiptoeing  out  with  something  hid 
under  her  wrap.  She  was  terribly  flustered. 
She  kept  looking  around  to  see  if  she  was 
watched,  while  she  hurried  to  the  front  door 
and  away  again. 

"'Did  you  ever  in  your  life!'  thinks  I;  'is 
the  woman  crazy? ' 

"  Then  I  went  down  into  the  blue-room  my- 
self. I  saw  only  one  thing  out  of  the  way,  — 
the  door  to  one  of  the  cabinets  where  Dorothy 
keeps  the  knickknacks  and  trinkets  she  has 
picked  up  here  and  there  was  open  a  little 
way,  but  I  couldn't  tell  whether  anything  was 
missing." 

[139] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Perhaps  she  had  something  hidden  there  — 
something  with  which  to  surprise  Dorothy?" 
suggested  Edith. 

Miss  Kemp  sniffed  her  disbelief  of  such  a 
possibility. 

'Then  why  hasn't  it  shown  up  since?"  she 
demanded.  '  The  Lord  knows,  there  is  no  rea- 
son for  keeping  it  hidden  now." 

After  a  moment's  reflection  the  girl  could  offer 
no  plausible  one.  Then,  on  a  sudden  impulse 
of  memory: 

"  Sarah,"  said  she,  "  that  time  you  turned  the 
hall  lights  on  —  you  said  something  dropped 
from  her  hand  —  " 

'  To  be  sure;  I  had  almost  forgotten.  I 
picked  it  up  after  she  flew  upstairs,  and  be- 
fore shutting  off  the  light  again.  Miss  Ger- 
vaise,  you  'd  never  in  the  world  guess  what  it 
was." 

"  I  suspect  not,  Sarah.  My  head  aches  now 
from  guessing." 

"  A  piece  of  yellow  chalk." 

"  A  piece  of  yel  — !  "  the  girl  was  repeating 
in  bewilderment,  when  Miss  Kemp  checked  her 
with  a  warning  "  Sst! "  Then,  swiftly,  the  old 

[140] 


IN   THE   DEAD   OF   NIGHT 

lady  hurried  over  to  the  door,  and  in  one 
quick  movement  unlocked  it  and  threw  it  wide 
open. 

In  the  hall  stood  the  cowering  figure  of  Miss 
Letitia  Leonard. 


[141] 


CHAPTER   XI 

PERSUASIVE  METHODS   OF  SARAH    KEMP 

FOR  an  instant  there  was  silence  profound. 
Edith,  surprised  by  the  result  of  Miss 
Kemp's  rapid  and  unexpected  manoeuvre, 
merely  sat  motionless,  staring  at  the  shrinking 
figure  in  the  hall. 

As  for  the  housekeeper,  her  rugged  features 
were  for  the  moment  stern  and  accusing,  the 
deep-set  eyes  sparkling  with  anger;  but  almost 
at  once  her  expression  changed  to  one  of  grim 
satisfaction,  not  unmixed  with  triumph. 

"  Come  in,  Miss  Leonard,"  her  harsh  voice 
uttered  derisively ;  "  come  in  and  explain  to  Miss 
Gervaise  —  if  you  can  —  why  you  are  eaves- 
dropping outside  my  door." 

A  shudder  convulsed  the  fragile  figure,  but 
otherwise  she  gave  no  heed  to  the  ironic  words 
or  inhospitable  manner.  She  betrayed  no  sign 
of  mortification  or  embarrassment  at  having  been 
detected  in  the  act  of  listening  at  the  keyhole. 


METHODS  OF  SARAH  KEMP 

Her  faded  blue  eyes  were  fixed  on  Edith  with  a 
look  of  dumb  appeal,  which  of  a  sudden  struck 
through  the  girl's  astonishment;  she  read  trag- 
edy in  the  look,  a  misery  too  abject  for  words. 
Rising  quickly  to  her  feet,  she  placed  a  restrain- 
ing hand  upon  Miss  Kemp's  arm. 

"Don't!"  she  entreated.  "Cannot  you  see 
the  poor  creature  is  suffering  ?  " 

The  other  laughed  her  incredulity;  but  the 
girl  knew  Miss  Letitia's  manner  indicated  some- 
thing more  serious  than  shock  from  anything  she 
may  have  overheard  before  the  door  was  opened. 

In  an  instant  she  was  at  Miss  Letitia's  side. 
All  softness  and  gentleness,  she  caught  one  of 
the  aimlessly  moving  hands  and  placed  a  firm 
supporting  arm  around  her. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Miss  Letitia?  "  she  asked, 
trying  bravely  to  hide  her  own  agitation.  "  Is. 
it  about  Dorothy? " 

The  woman  startled  them  with  a  sudden 
scream  which  was  as  suddenly  checked,  and  she 
would  have  slipped  to  the  floor,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  girl's  restraining  arm.  As  it  was,  Edith 
was  obliged  to  struggle  desperately;  with  the  limp 
figure. 

[1431 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Help  me,  Sarah !  "  she  sharply  commanded. 

But  already  the  housekeeper  had  slipped  a 
hand  beneath  Miss  Letitia's  free  arm.  Thus  to- 
gether they  managed  to  get  her  into  a  chair; 
but  it  required  the  support  of  both  to  keep  her 
there. 

Edith  knelt  on  one  side,  while  Sarah  Kemp, 
tall  and  rigid,  stood  austerely  on  the  other.  It 
was  now  patent,  however,  that  Miss  Letitia  was 
well-nigh  crazed  by  whatever  emotion  possessed 
her. 

Presently,  with  palsied,  twitching  fingers 
she  tore  wildly  at  her  throat,  as  if  she  were 
suffocating. 

"Dorothy!"  she  panted,  her  frenzied  look 
skirting  the  room,  only  to  return  each  time  to 
the  sweet,  sympathetic  face  so  close  to  hers. 
"  Sparks  told  me  you  were  here,  Miss  Ger- 
vaise;  I  telephoned;  I  —  I  —  just  had  to  see 
you.  .  .  .  Oh,  God  help  me ! "  the  last  a  de- 
spairing moan. 

But  Edith  uncompromisingly  brushed  aside 
all  extraneous  issues,  holding  the  overwrought 
woman  to  the  one  thing  uppermost  in  her  own 
mind. 

[144] 


METHODS   OF  SARAH  KEMP 

"  What  of  Dorothy?  "  she  demanded. 

"  She  "  —  the  thin  lips  twitched  —  "  she 's; 
dead!" 

With  a  horrified  intake  of  breath,  the  girl 
recoiled. 

"Dead!"  she  blankly  echoed. 

"  Aye  "  —  Miss  Letitia's  voice  rose  shrilly  — 
"  dead  —  murdered  —  her  innocent  young  life's 
blood  bathing  forever  and  ever  these  guilty" 
hands!" 

For  a  moment  she  struggled  as  if  the  obses- 
sion were  exerting  a  physical  force  to  subdue* 
her. 

"  No,"  —  meeting  by  turns  their  stupefied 
stares,  —  "  I  'm  —  I  'm  not  —  mad ;  I  —  I  know.. 
She  's  —  gone  —  the  same  way  —  her  —  her 
father  went." 

"My  God,  Sarah!"  whispered  Edith,  tragi- 
cally, "  what  does  she  mean  by  that?  " 

But  a  change  had  come  over  the  housekeeper.. 
She  did  not  answer  Edith's  question.  Her  power- 
ful right  hand  closed  in  a  grip  of  iron  upon  Miss 
Letitia's  shoulder,  and  she  forced  the  frail  body 
back  against  the  chair;  with  flaming  eyes  she 
caught  and  held  the  wandering  look,  and  in  a 
10  [145] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

voice  in  which  there  was  a  compelling,  masculine 
note,  commanded: 

"  Letitia  Leonard,  while  the  spirit  is  wrestling 
with  you  to  confess  your  wickedness,  tell  me  what 
you  mean  by  these  wild  words  of  blood  and  death. 
Tell  me  where  Dorothy  Day  is." 

All  at  once  the  bony  fingers  slid  with  a  swift 
motion  from  the  woman's  shoulder  to  her  throat ; 
with  terrifying  suddenness  all  of  Sarah  Kemp's 
passionate  nature  seemed  to  concentrate  in  her 
harsh  features  and  voice,  a  well-nigh  insane  fury 
that  yet  was  not  without  a  certain  dignity;  and 
the  ominous  voice  again  boomed  forth: 

"  Speak!  or  I  '11  not  leave  enough  breath  in 
your  body  ever  to  utter  another  word! " 

Edith  leaned  back  upon  the  floor,  supporting 
herself  with  one  arm,  transfixed  with  horror  at 
the  scene  going  on  before  her  eyes.  Had  there 
been  any  doubt  of  Sarah  Kemp's  purpose  she 
might  have  found  the  initiative  to  interfere;  but 
the  woman's  intent  was  manifestly  deadly,  and 
the  girl  could  only  gaze,  fascinated. 

And,  too,  the  critical  nature  of  her  plight  must 
have  dawned  dimly  upon  Miss  Letitia;  for  she 
clawed  with  feeble,  ineffectual  fingers  at  the  in- 

[146] 


METHODS   OF  SARAH   KEMP 

flexible  arm  until  of  a  sudden,  without  another 
adjuration,  the  hand  at  her  throat  closed. 

Miss  Kemp  was  not  only  in  earnest,  but,  it 
would  seem,  she  did  not  intend  to  wait. 

The  purpling  visage,  bobbing  ludicrously 
against  the  chairback,  acted  like  magic  upon 
Edith.  In  an  instant  she  was  upon  her  feet,  and 
in  the  next  had  flung  herself  upon  the  terrible, 
Medusa-like  figure. 

"  For  shame!  "  she  cried.    "  Sarah!  " 

The  woman  reeled  back  to  the  wall  before  the 
impact  of  Edith's  body,  where  she  stood,  sombre 
eyes  aflame,  glaring  at  the  indignant  girl  like  a 
tigress  robbed  of  her  prey.  It  had  been  an  easy 
matter  to  have  brushed  Edith  aside;  but,  nothing 
daunted,  all  her  outraged  feelings  up  in  arms, 
she  interposed  her  slight  figure  between  the  two 
women. 

By  degrees  the  wicked  light  died  out  in  Sarah 
Kemp's  eyes,  her  bony  fingers  ceased  twitching, 
but  her  expression  remained  hard. 

"  You  saved  me  from  doing  something  desper- 
ate, Miss  Gervaise,"  she  said  quite  calmly ;  "  but 
you  'd  better  have  let  me  make  her  speak  out." 

"  Sarah,  this  is  too  terrible,"  returned  Edith, 

[147] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

with  a  quivering  voice.  "  If  you  cannot  control 
yourself,  I  shall  call  for  help.  This  poor  woman 
is  not  responsible  for  her  wild  words,  but  you  are 
for  your  amazing  conduct.  Contain  yourself;  if 
there  is  any  reason  in  her  madness,  I  am  sure  I 
can  find  out  what  it  is." 

"  Something  's  stirred  her,  all  right,"  retorted 
Miss  Kemp,  closing  and  unclosing  the  fingers  of 
her  sinewy  right  hand  with  a  significance  that 
was  not  lost  upon  Edith.  The  woman's  face  was 
like  flint;  her  thin  lips  barely  moved.  "There 
was  always  a  suspicion  as  to  the  cause  of  Chaun- 
cey  Day's  death;  it's  always  troubled  Dorothy 
—  at  one  time  nearly  drove  her  crazy  —  but  never 
before  did  I  have  the  glimmer  of  an  idea  that  this 
woman  knew  even  of  the  suspicion.  Why  should 
she?  My  Dorothy  has  always  kept  it  to  herself. 
Miss  Gervaise  "  -  with  an  abrupt,  fervent  eager- 
ness -  "  that  woman  must  be  made  to  tell  what 
she  knows:  if  you  can't  draw  it  out  of  her,  why, 
I  can  —  and  will." 

Breathing  deeply,  Edith  strove  to  calm  herself. 
She  was  not  a  little  unstrung,  for  her  experiences 
since  coming  here  were  far  beyond  any  she  had 
ever  before  undergone,  or  even  dreamed  of,  dur- 

[148] 


METHODS   OF  SARAH  KEMP 

ing  her  somewhat  pampered  existence.  It  was  a 
considerable  tribute  to  her  strength  of  character 
that  she  faced  the  situation  so  bravely. 

Then,  too,  she  was  able  to  think  collectedly  and 

«/ 

to  some  purpose.  She  realized  that  a  critical 
juncture  was  presented,  and  that  whatever  means 
were  to  be  adopted  to  meet  it,  they  must  be  gentle, 
else  nothing  at  all  would  be  accomplished.  It 
was  plain  that  Sarah  Kemp's  savage  method  of 
inducing  Miss  Letitia  to  speak  could  only  defeat 
its  own  purpose. 

So,  presently,  after  a  glance  at  the  almost 
insensible  woman  huddled  in  the  chair,  she 
said,  — 

"  First  of  all,  Sarah,  we  must  get  her  to  her 
own  room,  undressed  and  in  bed.  Will  you  help 
me?  —  or  shall  I  seek  for  help  elsewhere?  " 

"  Oh,  you  won't  have  to  do  that,"  muttered 
Miss  Kemp.  "I'll  help  fast  enough."  The 
deep-set  eyes  bent  a  look  upon  Miss  Letitia,  the 
sombre  fire  again  glowing  momentarily  in  their 
depths. 

"  And  you  must  be  gentle,"  the  girl  firmly  in- 
sisted; "  I  shall  bear  with  no  more  such  out- 
breaks, Sarah." 

[149] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  I  '11  be  gentle,  Miss  Gervaise.  I  —  I  don't 
want  to  kill  her." 

Edith  hastily  covered  her  ears  with  her  hands. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  should 
hope  not !  For  pity's  sake,  Sarah,  do  not  talk  so." 

And  then,  quite  suddenly,  the  girl  became  sen- 
sible of  a  peculiar  expression  working  in  the 
woman's  rough  visage.  She  could  not  define  it 
further  than  that  it  was  the  evidence  of  a  power- 
ful inward  struggle,  and  doubt  as  to  whether  the 
emotions  thus  engaged  were  soft  or  otherwise, 
attracted  and  repelled  her  by  turns.  By-and-by, 
however,  her  own  indefinite  thoughts  and  feelings 
crystallized  into  wonderment  and  pity  at  a  devo- 
tion so  strong  as  was  Sarah  Kemp's  devotion  for 
Dorothy  Day.  For  now  Edith  thought  she  had 
the  key  to  this  strange  woman's  conduct.  Not 
many  days  were  to  elapse  before  she  was  to  know 
and  understand,  and,  when  she  looked  back  upon 
this  scene,  to  marvel  all  the  more. 

She  turned  toward  Miss  Letitia. 

"  Sarah,"  said  she,  more  gently,  "  come." 

With  a  queer  sound,  that  might  have  been  either 
an  abruptly  suppressed  sob  or  an  angry  growl, 
Miss  Kemp  hastened  between  them. 

[150] 


METHODS   OF   SARAH   KEMP 

"  You  leave  her  to  me,"  she  said  brusquely, 
but  not  unkindly.  '  This  is  no  work  for  you,. 
Miss  Gervaise.  I  'm  strong  —  Heaven  knows 
I  'm  strong  —  and  I  '11  handle  her  as  I  would  any 
baby.  You  just  come  along  and  talk  to  her." 

True  to  her  word,  she  gathered  the  now  help- 
less Miss  Letitia  into  her  arms  with  all  the  gentle- 
ness that  Edith  could  have  desired,  albeit  the  girl 
was  moved  by  some  misgivings  as  to  the  genuine- 
ness of  the  old  housekeeper's  pacific  moderation 
—  the  transition  had  been  so  swift,  the  contrast 
was  so  startling. 

Edith,  as  she  followed  down  the  stairs,  was  too- 
preoccupied  by  the  thoughts  that  whirled  through 
her  brain  to  wonder  at  the  ease  with  which  the 
powerful,  grizzled  woman  bore  her  burden.  To- 
all  appearances  Miss  Letitia  was  unconscious  — 
lifeless,  Edith  feared;  her  face  was  so  white,  so 
bloodless  as  to  be  almost  transparent.  Surely, 
cheeks  could  not  be  thus  devoid  of  color  and  hide 
even  a  dormant  spark  of  life. 

Arrived  at  Miss  Letitia's  chamber,  Miss  Kemp 
carefully  eased  the  motionless  form  to  the  bed, 
and  in  a  short  time  had  her  between  the  sheets. 

"  Now,  Miss  Gervaise,"  said  she,  rising  from 

[151] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

her  stooping  posture  and  standing  with  knuckles 
on  hips,  "  you  sit  with  her,  and  I  '11  go  call  the 
doctor." 

The  door  had  no  sooner  closed  behind  her  than 
the  girl  became  aM^are  of  two  terror-stricken,  pale 
blue  eyes  fixed  upon  her  from  among  the  pillows. 
Immediately  Miss  Letitia  addressed  her  in  a  whis- 
per that  was  strained  and  unnatural  with  fear. 

"  Has  she  gone?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith,  quietly,  laying  a  hand  upon 
the  coverlet.  "  But  you  had  better  remain  still 
un  — " 

"  No !  "  The  woman  suddenly  developed  an 
utterance  vibrating  with  passion,  yet  she  spoke 
scarcely  above  a  whisper.  "  Miss  Gervaise  —  you 
must  answer  me  —  now  —  at  once.  Last  night 
-at  St.  Stephen's  —  just  before  Dorothy  ran 
out  of  the  vestry-room,  did  some  strange  man 
appear  and  hand  her  a  —  a  —  hand  her  some- 
thing?" 

Much  astonished,  both  at  the  nature  of  the 
question  and  the  impatient  eagerness  with  which 
it  was  asked,  the  girl  could  merely  exclaim, 

"Dear  me!  didn't  you  know?  Why  do  you 
.ask? " 

[152] 


METHODS   OF   SARAH  KEMP 

"What  was  it?"  Miss  Letitia  promptly  de- 
manded, in  the  same  passionate  manner. 

"  A  bracelet,"  returned  the  perplexed  girl,  "  a 

gut-" 

She  was  not  permitted  to  finish. 

"  Merciful  God!  "  the  woman  on  the  bed  cried, 
in  a  tone  so  tragic,  sounding  depths  of  such  utter 
despair,  that  it  thrilled  Edith  through  and 
through.  She  clasped  her  hands  and  pleaded, 
tearfully : 

"Oh,  Miss  Letitia!  Miss  Letitia!  Do  —  do 
explain  yourself.  Whatever  it  is  your  allusions 
signify,  it  cannot  be  so  desperate,  so  terrible,  as 
your  manner  makes  —  " 

Again  the  older  woman  interrupted,  but  now 
in  a  voice  so  weak  and  broken  that  her  hearer 
scarcely  comprehended  what  she  said. 

"  It 's  —  it 's  the  sign.  What  I  said  is  true: 
she  —  she  's  dead." 

"Oh,  no  — no  — no!" 

Edith  trembled  on  the  verge  of  tears ;  but  there 
was  a  subtle  something  about  the  quietness  into 
which  Miss  Letitia  all  at  once  relaxed  that  froze 
the  words  upon  her  lips. 

[153] 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   MARK   ON   THE   POST 

MR.  COLE'S  taximetric  reflections  were 
pursued  diligently  until  the  cab  arrived 
at  the  end  of  the  wide  boulevard,  some  miles 
distant  from  the  Gervaise  residence,  where  he 
was  aroused  by  the  chauffeur  inquiring,  "  Which 
way  now,  sir? " 

'  Thunderation !  "  ejaculated  he.     It  was  an- 
noying thus  to  have  the  fact  brought  abruptly 
home  to  him  that  he  was  no  nearer  a  feasible  plan 
of  action  than  when  he  started.    After  a  moment : 
'  Turn  around  and  go  back,"  he  commanded. 

He  could  not  continue  this  aimless  riding  about 
town  all  day,  however  conducive  it  might  be  to 
that  tranquil  condition  of  the  mind  which  is  a 
first  essential  of  dispassionate,  logical  thought. 
Under  such  a  soothing  influence  he  might  medi- 
tate and  ride  forever  —  or  until  his  bank  account 
gave  out,  anyhow.  But  he  had  spent  enough 
time  and  money  thinking ;  he  must  get  busy. 

[154] 


THE   MARK  ON  THE  POST 

How? 

First  of  all,  find  the  man  with  the  scarred  hand. 
That  maimed  member  seemed  to  offer  the  most 
promising  inducement;  for  a  man  so  marked 
should  not  be  hard  to  come  up  with,  if  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  mingling  at  all  with  his  fellows.  Be- 
sides, Cole  was  animated  by  a  personal  grievance 
to  run  this  particular  individual  down,  and  if  he 
succeeded  there  was  no  telling  to  what  the  cap- 
ture might  lead. 

Suddenly  his  mind  was  made  up. 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  Pat  McFerren's 
place?  "  —  this  to  cabby. 

"  To  be  sure,  sir,"  was  the  surprised  reply. 

"  Drive  there  " ;  and  Mr.  Cole  settled  back 
among  the  cushions  once  more. 

The  cabby's  surprise  was  but  natural.  How 
anybody  could  be  in  Williamsburg  an  hour  and 
not  know  "  Boss  "  McFerren's  "  place  "  signified 
a  degree  of  unsophistication  with  which  cabby's 
imagination  was  utterly  unable  to  cope. 

In  many  respects  McFerren's  was  a  peculiar 
institution.  The  ground  floor  sheltered  a  palatial 
bar-room,  back  of  which  were  a  number  of  little 
rooms  celebrated  amongst  the  elect  for  their  ab- 

[155] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

solute  privacy;  upstairs,  mystery.  Occasionally, 
when  driven  to  it  by  the  activities  of  various  re- 
form leagues,  the  police  would  swoop  down  upon 
the  "  place,"  hammer  in  a  few  doors,  and  dem- 
onstrate to  the  world  that  the  charges  that  Mr. 
Patrick  McFerren  conducted  a  gambling-den 
were  merely  aspersions,  inspired  by  political 
jealousy  and  envy,  upon  the  good  name  of  a 
useful  and  high-minded  citizen. 

On  other  nights,  singularly  enough,  the  whir 
of  the  roulette-wheel,  the  rattle  and  clatter  of 
dice  and  chips,  and  the  shufflings  of  chuck-a-luck 
went  on  uninterrupted,  although  there  was  no 
discernible  discrimination  exercised  in  defining 
the  patronage.  In  fact,  it  was  an  open  boast  of 
McFerren's  that  the  only  limit  to  the  play  in  his 
establishment  was  imposed  by  the  roof,  and  that 
its  doors  were  never  closed  save  on  "  bank  holi- 
days." What  sort  of  a  cabby  would  it  be,  any- 
way, that  didn't  know  McFerren's  "place"! 

A  motor  cab  with  a  faultlessly  attired  fare,  like 
Mr.  Cole,  arriving  in  that  neighborhood  before 
noon  excited  much  speculation  and  comment ;  de- 
parting, it  would  have  gone  its  way  unnoticed. 
But  Cole  cared  not  a  whit  how  much  he  provoked 

[156] 


the  curiosity  of  the  idle.  The  stained-glass  doors 
of  the  "  place  "  opened  before  him  and  swung  to 
behind  him,  and  —  it  must  be  confessed  —  the 
solitary  bartender  required  by  the  light  duties  of 
the  early  hour,  saluted  him  with  the  assurance  of 
an  old  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Cole  merely  nodded. 

"  Nothin'  doin',  Mr.  Cole,"  the  white-aproned 
young  man  confided;  "  they  were  n't  strong  last 
night."  The  last  was  pronounced  simultane- 
ously with  a  lifting  of  the  eyebrows,  a  knowing 
glance  from  the  eyes  themselves,  and  a  jerk  of  the 
head  and  one  thumb,  all  in  the  general  direction 
of  the  ceiling.  Tinder  the  combined  influence 
of  so  many  indications  that  the  "  they  "  referred 
to  dwelt  in  some  mysterious  realm  above,  it  was 
a  wonder  that  Mr.  Cole  did  not  at  least  look  up ; 
but  he  did  not. 

"  So?  "  returned  he,  without  apparent  interest. 
"Pat  be  down  soon?" 

"  The  boss  's  been  —  and  gone.  Anything  I 
can  do? " 

He  seemed  willing  enough,  and  Mr.  Cole  ap- 
peared to  reflect..  In  a  moment,  — 

"Well,  Dan,"  he  hesitated,  "I  don't  know; 

[157] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

perhaps  you  can.  We  are  alone;  suppose  you 
drop  that  rag,  and  come  over  here  to  the  table." 

The  young  fellow  obeyed,  first  inquiring  (as  a 
mere  matter  of  form,  for  lie  had  never  known  Mr. 
Cole  to  order  a  drink  at  the  bar)  if  his  caller 
would  "  have  somethin'." 

"  Dan,"  began  the  latter,  "  I  am  trying  to  find 
a  certain  man.  He  is  a  tall,  military-looking 
chap,  wears  a  black  slouch  hat,  and  has  a  scar 
across  the  back  of  —  " 

Up  to  this  point  Dan's  attitude  had  been  one  of 
polite  attention,  merely;  at  the  word  "  scar  "  he 
started  and  betrayed  an  enlivened  interest.  Mr. 
Cole  paused,  therefore,  hiding  an  incipient  yawn 
behind  one  tan  glove. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  I  struck  the  right  place  the 
very  first  time,"  concluded  he,  smiling  agreeably 
at  the  startled  bartender. 

Dan  sat  staring  at  his  vis-a-vis,  the  while  the 
latter  glanced  lazily  from  bottle  to  bottle  on  the 
back-bar;  but  presently,  impressed  by  Dan's 
silence,  his  regard  met  the  young  man's  and 
settled  into  a  steady,  compelling  look. 

"  Out  with  it,  Dan,"  said  he,  affably. 

Dan  was  more  than  a  trifle  disconcerted;   he 

[158] 


realized  that  his  caller's  air  of  indifference  had 
led  him  into  betraying  himself  before  discovering 
whether  the  information  sought  could  be  im- 
parted without  injuring  his  "  boss."  All  of  Pat 
McFerren's  tools  were  just  that  careful.  And 
now  Dan  could  not  deny  —  especially  beneath 
the  potent  look  levelled  at  him  —  that  he  was  ig- 
norant of  the  characterizing  scar. 

"  Mr.  Cole  —  if  you  don't  mind,"  began  he, 
confusedly,  under  the  fillip  of  that  gentleman's 
unwavering  look  —  "  er  —  ah  —  would  you  be 
mindin'  tellin'  me  why  you  want  to  know?  " 

Foster  Cole  managed,  in  some  indefinable 
manner  —  for  it  was  by  no  inflection  of  voice  — 
to  impress  Dan  with  the  idea  that  he  was  im- 
mensely surprised. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Dan;  come  now.  Do  you  always 
make  it  a  point  to  acquaint  yourself  with  a  man's 
reasons  for  inquiring  another  man's  name,  before 
you  will  consent  to  tell  him?  " 

The  bartender  was  greatly  distressed.  But  at 
this  juncture  he  was  temporarily  relieved  by  the 
entrance  of  a  customer  who  showed  unmistakable 
signs  of  having  been  up  all  night  and  not  caring 
a  hooter  who  knew  it.  As  it  at  once  transpired 

[159] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

that  this  individual  merely  wanted  to  know  if  he 
was  "  good  for  one  "  until  he  could  get  a  cheque 
cashed,  he  was  unable  to  hold  Dan's  attention  for 
long.  He  departed,  gloomily,  and  Dan  returned 
to  the  table. 

'  You  must  excuse  me,  Mr.  Cole,"  he  now  pro- 
tested, "  but  you  steered  me  right  up  against  it 
before  I  had  a  hunch  what  was  comin'.  You 
know  how  the  boss  is;  he  don't  care  how  much 
hot  air  a  fellow  may  let  off,  so  long  as  he  don't 
go  to  givin'  none  of  his  business  away  —  under- 
stand? So  —  " 

Cole  calmly  interrupted. 

'  Then  to  tell  me  this  chap's  name  would  be 
giving  away  the  boss's  business  —  eh?" 

:<  Well,  you  see,  it 's  like  this.  The  boss  has 
let  him  hang  'round  here  the  past  week  or  so,  and 
you  know  yourself,  Mr.  Cole,  that  ain't  the  old 
man's  way  when  a  fellow  don't  turn  himself  loose 
now  and  then.  This  ain't  no  shack  for  moochers. 

'  Yet  I  must  say  this  gazabo  does  punish  a 
sight  of  booze.  Not  that  he  's  ever  soused  —  he 
always  stops  short  of  that,  if  there  is  any  stoppin* 
place  for  him  —  but  he  keeps  his  tin  leg  pretty 
well  filled  up  to  the  overflow. 

[160] 


THE   MARK  ON   THE  POST 

"  He  don't  buck  any  of  the  games,  though. 
He  's  got  somethin'  on,  for  times  he  's  loafing  in 
here  he  always  seems  to  be  waiting  for  somebody 
or  for  something  to  happen.  Once  in  a  while 
he  meets  somebody  in  one  of  the  wine-rooms," 
—  Dan  shook  his  head,  —  "  but  I  swear  I  don't 
know  what 's  doin'." 

"Do  you  know  his  name?  " 

For  a  time  Dan  remained  silent,  scratching  his 
nose  in  perplexity.  Presently  he  said,  with  ob- 
vious reluctance, 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do.  But  for  God's  sake,  Mr.  Cole, 
don't  ever  let  the  boss  know  I  've  been  shootin' 
off  me  mouth,  or  it  will  be  twenty-three  for  Dan 
Fogarty  and  crape  on  me  door  the  next  time  you 
call." 

"  Certainly  not,  Dan;  you  can  trust  me,  I 
hope." 

"I  do,  Mr.  Cole  —  I  do  —  or  I'd  close  the 
face  of  me  tighter  than  that  cash-register 
there. 

"  Listen.  I  '11  tell  you.  I  've  heard  the  old 
man  call  him  '  Jim,'  and  then  sometimes  '  Sav- 
age ' ;  so,  puttin'  one  and  one  together,  I  make 

it  that  his  name  's  Jim  Savage." 
11  \  101  i 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Hm-m-m  —  not  a  Williamsburg  man,  then, 
I  take  it." 

Again  Dan  shook  his  head. 

"  Can't  say  as  to  that,  sir,"  said  he,  philosoph- 
ically. '  These  old  lushers  and  tin-horns,  they 
comes  and  they  goes ;  they  blows  in  from  nobody 
knows  where,  they  makes  a  little  noise  for  a  day 
or  two,  and  then  they  beats  it  for  the  next  town, 
or  are  doin'  time,  or  mebbe  takin'  their  last  ride 
in  the  dead-wagon.  I  don't  aim  to  keep  any  tab 
on  'em;  what's  the  use?" 

Mr.  Cole  rose  to  go. 

;<  What  would  be  the  most  likely  time  to  meet 
this  —  er  —  Mr.  Savage?  "  asked  he. 

"  Oh,  most  any  time  after  supper.  When  he 
ain't  with  somebody  in  a  wine-room,  he  's  gen- 
erally sittin'  at  that  table  in  the  far  corner,  where 
he  can  see  everybody  that  comes  and  goes." 

"  Thank  you,  Dan.  And  please  don't  men- 
tion that  I  've  been  here  inquiring  - 

"  Sure  not,"  Dan  emphatically  interrupted. 
"Trust  me,  Mr.  Cole;  I'm  wise.  You  just 
come  back  here  about  eight  or  nine,  and  you  '11 
find  him  all  right  —  if  not  to-night,  to-morrow 
night." 

[162] 


THE  MARK  ON  THE  POST 

Cole  directed  cabby  to  take  him  to  Lecomte 
Gibbs's  number  —  he  knew  his  friend  would  not 
be  at  his  office  —  for  he  wanted  to  report,  not 
only  Edith's  and  Dorothy's  experience  with  Le- 
porello  the  seer,  but  to  lay  before  the  magnate 
several  ideas  that  had  taken  shape  in  his  mind  as 
a  direct  result  of  that  morning's  conversation 
with  Edith.  He  also  wanted  to  know  whether 
his  friend  had  heard  any  news  of  the  missing 
lady. 

However,  he  and  Gibbs  did  not  meet  that 
morning.  When  next  he  saw  him  Cole  had  a 
wrealth  of  information  to  impart,  of  infinitely 
greater  importance  than  the  episode  with  the 
seer  and  the  few  half-baked  hypotheses  now  float- 
ing hazily  in  his  brain. 

"Deuce  take  it!"  he  impatiently  muttered, 
"  I  hope  Lecomte  is  keeping  nothing  from  me. 
But  he  has  such  high  and  mighty  ideas  about 
women  that  I  am  by  no  means  positive  —  regu- 
lar Chevalier  Bayard."  Mr.  Cole  frowned. 
"  Last  night,  though,  when  I  first  mentioned 
Dorothy's  past  —  h'm-m-m-m,  he  looked  at  me 
mighty  queer." 

At  this  stage  of  his  reflections,  however,  they; 

[163] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

were  abruptly  broken  in  upon  and,  in  a  moment, 
directed  into  a  new  channel. 

He  happened  to  look  up  just  in  time  to  per- 
ceive a  familiar  figure  disappearing  around  a 
corner  of  the  cross  street  which  the  cab  was 
approaching. 

"Now,  what  the  devil!"  he  ejaculated  under 
his  breath. 

The  figure  was  Cullimore's. 

He  leaned  eagerly  forward  and  took  in  with  a 
swift,  sweeping  glance  that  portion  of  the  walk 
which  Lecomte  Gibbs's  butler  had  just  traversed, 
and  was  given  another  start.  At  that  instant  the 
cab  was  passing  a  lot  whose  front  was  enclosed 
by  a  large  bill-board,  above  and  beyond  which 
Cole  discerned  the  upper  story  and  roof  of  a 
ramshackle  old  building.  It  had  once,  doubtless, 
been  a  handsome  residence,  but  was  now  little 
more  than  a  wreck. 

However,  it  was  not  these  details  that  held  his 
attention.  Between  the  huge  sign-board,  with  its 
glaring  advertisements,  and  the  walk  was  the 
remnant  of  an  ancient  picket  fence;  on  one 
disreputable  gate-post  somebody  had  drawn  a 
yellow  circle. 

[164] 


THE   MARK  ON  THE   POST 

What  was  it  .doing  there? 

His  surprise  had  been  occasioned,  not  so  much 
by  having  seen  Cullimore  so  unexpectedly,  as  by 
the  neighborhood  in  which  the  rencontre  had  oc- 
curred. It  was  far  from  being  a  nice  part  of 
town;  the  vile  odors  of  the  street  were  also  sig- 
nificant of  the  locality's  moral  atmosphere,  and  that 
the  staid  Cullimore  should  be  parading  its  thor- 
oughfares at  any  time  of  the  day  or  night  was  a 
circumstance  of  a  nature  to  make  one  wonder. 

In  a  second  or  two  the  cab  was  at  the  corner, 
and  Cole  looked  earnestly  in  the  direction  whence 
Cullimore  had  disappeared;  but  in  spite  of  his 
eager  scrutiny  of  street  and  walks,  the  man  was 
not  to  be  seen. 

Immediately  nearby  pedestrians  lingered  curi- 
ously when  he  shouted  to  the  chauffeur  to  stop. 
He  sprang  out,  and  with  a  curt  injunction  to  the 
man  to  wait,  hastened  back  to  the  gate-post  with 
its  mysterious  symbol. 

But  his  perplexed  frown  betrayed  an  inability 
to  make  anything  at  all  of  it.  Like  those  other 
markings  he  had  seen  marring  the  whiteness  of 
Lecomte's  top  step,  this  one  had  been  drawn  with 
yellow  chalk,  —  quite  recently,  too,  it  was  plain 

[165  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

to  be  seen,  —  but  Instead  of  the  letters  and  digits 
enclosed  by  the  first,  this  circle  contained  only 
the  single  letter  "  M." 

The  symbol  appeared  thus: 


Cole  was  profoundly  impressed  by  the  strange- 
ness of  it  all.  What  did  it  mean?  What  import 
was  to  be  educed  from  the  coincidence  of  Culli- 
more's  presence  in  the  neighborhood  and  that 
yellow  circle  recently  drawn  on  a  rotting  gate- 
post? Groping  for  an  answer  to  these  riddles, 
his  mind  remained  a  blank. 

He  advanced  between  the  two  ancient  posts 
and,  oblivious  of  the  many  pairs  of  eyes  which 
followed  his  singular  movements  with  a  quite 
natural  curiosity,  peered  around  one  end  of  the 
bill-board. 

He  beheld  a  yard  overgrown  with  weeds  and 
littered  with  ash-heaps,  empty  tins,  broken  bottles, 
and  all  sorts  of  refuse,  and  beyond,  the  house. 
It  was  a  sorry  wreck  of  a  structure.  Windowless 

[166] 


THE   MARK   ON  THE   POST 

and  doorless,  it  gaped  at  him  like  a  grinning  skull. 
One  corner  of  the  porch  sagged  perilously  for 
want  of  a  support;  all  signs  of  paint  had  long 
since  disappeared,  and  boards  and  shingles  were 
stained  to  a  uniform  shade  of  gray  by  time  and 
weather.  Mortar  and  bricks  from  the  chimneys 
lay  on  the  roof,  where  the  few  remaining  shingles 
were  curled  like  birch-bark. 

The  peep  around  the  bill-board  was  enough 
for  the  fastidious  young  man;  he  balked  at 
essaying  the  filthy  yard  and  the  treacherous  steps 
and  floors  of  the  abandoned  ruin. 

Returning  again  to  the  walk,  he  noted  the 
number  opposite  and  learned  from  his  cabby  the 
name  of  the  street.  The  view  of  the  littered, 
weed-grown  yard  and  the  gloomy  old  ruin  —  per- 
haps once  a  home  of  which  its  owner  had  been 
inordinately  proud  —  had  dispirited  him. 

"What  a  dismal  spot!"  muttered  he,  with  a 
shrug,  as  if  he  would  free  himself  of  the 
depression. 

Glancing  back,  he  saw  the  yellow  circle  glow- 
ing like  an  oriflamme. 


[167] 


CHAPTER   XIII 

COMPARING   NOTES 

UNTIL  dinner  —  which  he  had  alone  at  his 
club  —  Mr.  Cole  put  in  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  in  an  ineffectual  effort  to  find,  first, 
Mr.  Gibbs,  and,  failing  in  that  quest,  Miss 
Gervaise. 

But  neither  was  that  young  lady  at  home,  nor 
her  father,  who  was  in  Philadelphia,  nor  her 
mother,  who  might  have  been  at  any  one  of  a 
dozen  or  so  different  places  —  so  Sparks,  the 
Gervaise  factotum,  informed  him,  loftily,  as  if 
the  dozen  or  so  places  were  the  only  desirable 
ones  in  the  universe. 

So  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  re- 
turn to  the  club,  there  to  kill  time  over  a  dinner 
for  which  he  had  no  appetite,  until  the  hour 
arrived  for  repairing  to  McFerren's.  Although 
his  thoughts  were  by  no  means  comforting,  yet 
he  wanted  to  be  alone  with  them;  so  he  avoided 
the  overtures  of  some  half-dozen  idlers  of  his 

[168] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

acquaintance,  escaped  a  dreary  game  of  billiards, 
another  of  euchre,  and  refused  a  number  of  in- 
vitations, to  accept  any  one  of  which  would  have 
taken  up  his  time  for  the  whole  evening. 

One  little  incident,  however,  caused  him  tem- 
porarily to  forget  his  discouragement.  As  the 
heavy  plate-glass  door  of  the  club  swung  noise- 
lessly to  behind  him  a  painfully  rigid  little  "  but- 
tons "  imparted  the  information  that  a  telegram 
awaited  him  at  the  desk.  He  paused  long  enough 
in  the  reading-room  to  take  in  its  import.  It 
was  dated  at  Philadelphia  and  was  from  Gibbs. 

"  On  a  false  scent.     Home  to-night." 

"  Some  grafter  after  a  wad  of  Lecomte's 
money,"  was  Cole's  disgusted  conclusion,  as  he 
crushed  the  yellow  slip  to  a  ball  and  tossed  it 
into  a  waste-paper  basket.  And  it  later  trans- 
pired that  his  conclusion  was  more  or  less 
correct. 

Next  he  spent  several  unsatisfactory  minutes 
with  Mr.  Flint,  the  detective,  over  the  telephone. 

No,  Mr.  Flint  had  heard  nothing  definite,  but 
he  was  giving  the  Day  case  his  attention.  Mr. 
Flint  was  following  closely  a  number  of  clews, 

[169] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

but  as  yet  nothing  had  developed  that  Mr. 
Flint  cared  to  discuss.  Promising  clews?  Of 
course  they  were  promising  clews,  else  Mr. 
Flint  would  not  be  wasting  his  time  following 
them.  Mr.  Flint,  however,  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused from  telling  what  the  clews  were;  it  would 
not  be  professional,  and,  besides,  nothing  might 
come  of  them,  in  which  case  it  was  not  advis- 
able to  excite  hopes  that  might  be  disappointed. 
What  if  the  clews  did  lead  to  nothing,  did  Mr. 
Cole  say?  Oh,  in  that  case,  Mr.  Flint  would 
unearth  other  clews  —  and  presumably  follow 
them. 

Cole  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  sardonic 
smile. 

Surely  the  fates  that  night  were  against  him. 
Although,  under  various  pretexts,  he  haunted 
McFerren's  until  near  midnight,  the  redoubt- 
able Mr.  Savage  did  not  appear;  and  then, 
much  worn  out  in  both  mind  and  body,  Mr. 
Cole  returned  to  his  club  and  went  to  bed. 

Next  morning  he  arose  with  unshaken  deter- 
mination. Before  falling  to  sleep  the  preceding 
night  he  had  bethought  him  of  a  certain  ac- 
quaintance high  up  in  police  circles.  So,  early; 

[170] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

as  it  was,  he  meant  first  of  all  to  find  Edith, 
and  then  see  Inspector  Swift. 

At  a  much  earlier  hour  than  he  had  ever  be- 
fore dared  to  devote  to  the  same  purpose  he 
presented  himself  to  Sparks.  That  worthy  had 
the  temerity  to  indulge  in  a  surprised  stare.  But 
the  young  lady  was  at  home  and  had  issued 
instructions  that  Mr.  Cole  was  to  be  ushered 
into  her  presence  the  instant  he  inquired  for 
her. 

And  he  did  not  have  to  wait  on  Edith  ten 
seconds  —  which  must  be  set  down  to  the  credit 
of  her  sex,  whose  delinquencies  in  this  particu- 
lar are  said  to  give  newspaper  humorists  their 
characterizing  expression  of  ghoulish  glee.  The 
young  man  was  in  the  act  of  seating  himself  in 
his  favorite  chair,  when,  with  a  catch  in  his 
breath,  he  suddenly  stood  erect  again. 

The  vision  that  swept  toward  him  through  the 
portiere,  hands  outstretched,  face  eager,  brown 
eyes  solemn,  was  new  and  delightful  —  aye, 
thrilling.  The  thrill  ran  through  him  just  as 
she  thrust  her  hands  into  his. 

"  Foster !  "  murmured  she.  "  I  have  the  most 
to  tell  you!  It  is  so  strange  —  and  horrible." 

[171] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

He,  however,  apparently  had  nothing  at  all 
on  his  part  to  relate,  strange,  horrible,  or  other- 
wise; his  countenance  remained  unchanged, 
though  his  gray  eyes  yielded  up  a  light  of  con- 
tent with  the  situation  just  as  it  was. 

Yes,  indeed,  this  was  a  new  Edith  to  him. 
Greatly  as  he  coveted  her  society,  and  as  pleased 
as  she  usually  was  to  see  him,  heretofore  his  calls 
had  been  marked  by  a  dismal  formality;  they 
approached  each  other  only  near  enough  to  chat 
and  exchange  airy  persiflage  over  the  barrier. 
But  there  was  something  so  intimate  in  the 
meeting  this  morning  that  for  a  moment  the 
young  fellow's  head  swam. 

Edith  was  once  more  the  girl  he  had  known 
-well,  he  did  not  want  to  be  specific,  but  the 
period  his  memory  flew  back  to  was  ever  so 
long  ago.  The  skirt  of  her  pink  batiste  frock 
was  short  enough  to  display  frankly  the  white 
canvas  shoes,  and  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of 
white  stockings,  while  her  brown  hair  was  caught 
up  in  one  massive  braid  and  held  with  a  single 
bow  of  pink  ribbon.  How  much  more  beautiful 
it  was  than  when  twisted  and  puffed  into  the 
elaborate  coiffures  with  which  he  was  familiar. 

[172] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

And  what  a  quantity  of  it!  And  how  wavy  and 
shiny  with  a  light  all  its  own!  And  how  his 
heart  did  thump!  She  was  infinitely  sweet  and 
lovely,  her  whole  appearance  bespeaking  a  toilet 
deferred  —  for  him! 

He  restrained  an  impulse  to  draw  her  closer 
to  him.  For  it  was  all  at  once  borne  in  upon 
him  that,  while  the  pulse-stirring,  unconventional 
freedom  of  her  greeting  signified  a  boundless 
trust  and  confidence,  her  mind  was  nevertheless 
occupied  with  thoughts  in  which  he  played  but 
a  minor  part.  Therefore,  after  a  final  little 
squeeze,  he  released  the  slender  white  fingers 
and  turned  again  to  his  chair,  the  same  emo- 
tionless individual  who  had  entered  but  a  minute 
since. 

'  Very  well,"  said  he.  "  Begin  with  the  strange 
part  and  lead  by  degrees  to  the  horrible.  I 
rested  only  indifferently  well  last  night." 

"  Do  be  serious,"  she  expostulated,  drawing 
forward  a  stool.  "  I  have  had  an  experience 
that  was  really  dreadful.  Perhaps  Dolly 's 
dead." 

He  glanced  quickly  at  her  as  she  sat  down, 
propping  her  elbows  upon  her  knees  and  lean- 

[173] 


ing  one  cheek  against  her  clasped  hands  which 
held  a  wisp  of  lace  handkerchief. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  he,  quietly.  "  But  relate 
your  experience." 

And  she  did  —  from  the  time  Sarah  Kemp 
drew  her  across  the  Day  threshold  yesterday, 
until  she  departed  from  Miss  Letitia,  who  was 
by  turns  hysterical  and  in  a  stupor.  That  lady 
was  now  in  the  care  of  a  nurse,  and  the  doctor 
had  pronounced  her  condition  critical. 

Cole  remained  strangely  still  as  she  repeated 
Miss  Letitia's  wild  avowals  that  Dorothy  was 
dead;  but  now  and  then,  during  the  recital  of 
Sarah  Kemp's  narrative,  he  turned  to  the  pres- 
ent narrator  as  if  he  would  interrupt,  though 
he  did  so  but  once.  That  was  when  Edith  men- 
tioned the  bit  of  yellow  chalk  which  Miss  Letitia 
had  dropped  in  the  hall.  Truly  this  young  man 
was  gifted  with  a  superb  self-control. 

"  Yellow,  did  you  say?  "  inquired  he. 

"  Yes.  Is  there  any  especial  significance  in 
the  fact  that  the  chalk  was  yellow  instead  of 
red,  or  blue,  or  green,  or  any  other  color?" 

"  There  is ;    but  I  cannot  tell  you  what." 

"How  provoking  you  are!"  complained  she; 

[174] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

but  the  words  were  accompanied  by  a  glance 
from  the  handsome  eyes  and  a  pout  of  the  red 
lips  that  eclipsed  all  reproach. 

She  moved  her  clasped  hands  to  the  arm  of 
his  chair.  Her  face  was  below  his  and  turned 
up  to  him.  How  girlish  and  lovely  she  was  with 
that  braid,  thick  as  his  arm,  he  thought,  looped 
up  and  tied  with  a  pink  ribbon! 

"  Where  is  the  old  net  you  used  to  carry 
your  books  in?  "  said  he.  "  Red,  it  was." 

"  Goodness  me !  "  marvelled  she,  "  do  you  re- 
member that  old  net?  I  fear  it  has  gone 
with  the  books  that  made  so  many  journeys 
between  here  and  the  High  School."  But 
Miss  Edith  was  in  no  sentimental  retrospective 
mood. 

'  Tell  me  what  you  have  learned,"  she  con- 
cluded decisively  —  "  what  you  have- discovered." 

"  The  most  desirable  woman  in  all  the  world," 
returned  he,  still  looking  thoughtfully  down  at 
her.  "  I  believed  I  had  always  known  her,  but 
—  now  —  " 

The  color  rose  to  her  cheeks  and  she  drew 
suddenly  back. 

"Don't  move,"  he  pleaded  —  "please!"     He 

[1751 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

waited  till  she  leaned  forward  again,  doubtfully, 
a  trifle  hesitatingly,  and  replaced  her  clasped 
hands  upon  the  chair-arm.  "There!"  said  he. 
"  I  did  not  answer  your  question,  did  I  ?  But 
for  a  moment  I  came  near  to  giving  way  to 
an  impulse  —  " 

;<  The  idea!"  she  interrupted,  reprovingly. 
"You!  —  to  own  to  an  impulse!"  But,  calmly 
waiting  until  she  was  through,  he  concluded: 

"  —  an  impulse  to  lay  my  hand  upon  your 
head." 

"  Nonsense!  "  crisply.  "  Foster  Cole,  if  noth- 
ing more  weighty  than  that  brought  you  here 
at  this  heathenish  hour  of  the  morning,  why, 
you  may  go  again.  I  am  serious.  Think  of 
Dorothy!" 

"  I  have  thought  of  but  little  else  for  two 
whole  days.  ...  I  would  have  placed  it  there 
very  tenderly;  had  you  not  been  looking,  you 
would  not  have  known." 

"  If  you  think  I  am  going  to  stop  watching 
you  for  a  single  instant  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken." But  notwithstanding  the  firmness  of 
her  tone,  the  color  slowly  deepened  in  her  face, 
and  all  at  once  she  could  no  longer  endure  the 

[176] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

look  in  his  eyes.  Her  head  drooped  slowly 
forward  until  it  rested  upon  her  hands. 

"Just  one  moment  then,"  she  whispered;  but 
he  heard  it,  and  his  eyes  gleamed. 

His  thin,  nervous  fingers  were  instantly  lost 
among  the  wealth  of  sunny  tresses;  stooping 
down  to  her,  he  brushed  them  with  his  lips  and 
closed  his  eyes,  intoxicated  with  the  sweet  per- 
fume that  swept  up  from  her  and  enveloped 
him. 

The  delectable  spell  lasted  indeed  only  for  a 
moment;  the  next,  as  elusive  as  thistledown  in 
the  June  breeze  that  hummed  so  happily  that 
morning,  she  was  up  and  away  from  him,  her 
cheeks  rosy,  her  handsome  eyes  sparkling,  her 
bosom  heaving. 

She  was  the  first  to  recover  her  equipoise,  for 
the  man's  look  followed  her  hungrily.  Deftly 
she  smoothed  the  disarranged  locks,  as  much  as. 
they  would  consent  to  be  smoothed,  standing 
the  while  well  out  of  his  reach.  She  did  not  yet 
dare  to  meet  his  look;  the  one  or  two  brief 
glances  she  shot  in  his  direction  revealed  an  ex- 
pression which  she  had  only  glimpsed  now  and 
then  in  times  past,  but  which  now  transfigured 

12  [  177  ] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

his  features  and  made  her  heart  leap  strangely 
and  her  color  come  and  go.  It  was  not  right, 
she  tried  to  assure  herself,  to  be  so  stirred;  it 
was  unfamiliar,  and  she  was  afraid;  yet  joy 
glowed  within  her  and  her  self-assurance  was 
without  confidence. 

"  How  ridiculous!  "  murmured  she,  gracefully 
bending  her  head  this  way  and  that,  while  she 
continued  to  adjust  the  disordered  tresses  which 
no  power  on  earth  could  ever  make  smooth.  "  I 
have  done  my  best  to  put  off  this  moment "  — 
her  hands  dropped  before  her  and  she  faced  him 
—  "  you  can't  say  I  have  not  - 

"  I  can't  truthfully  say  you  have  not,"  he 
humbly  agreed. 

"  —  but  "  -  her  bosom  rose  in  a  sigh  — "  I 
suppose  it  was  bound  to  come.  We  have  been 
such  good  chums,  Foster,  you  and  I;  I  loved 
so  to  talk  to  you,  to  seek  your  advice  —  you  are 
so  wise  when  you  want  to  be  —  and  now  —  " 

"  And  now?  "     He  watched  her  eagerly. 

"  Now  it  can  never,  never  be  like  that  again. 
And  I  am  so  sorry." 

With  an  obvious  effort  he  looked  away  from 
her. 

[178] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

"  If  wisdom  follows  the  desire  for  it,"  said 
he,  "  then  at  this  moment  I  am  Solomon  and 
Daniel  rolled  into  one.  I  promise  not  to  trans- 
gress again,  and  I  protest  that  nothing  has 
occurred  to  prevent  us  being  chums  —  er  —  for- 
ever." 

"  Foster,"  plaintively,  "  why  are  you  so  silly? " 
His  attitude  became  judicial.     He  returned, 
"If  to  love  your  chum  with  an  undying  de- 
votion signifies  silliness,  then  am  I  constrained 
to  admit  the  soft  impeachment.     As  to  why  it 
should  be  so  the  invoked  wisdom  answereth  not; 
I  cannot  tell  you." 

Whether  his  mood  were  serious  or  whimsical 
she  could  not  determine.  For  some  reason  she 
wanted  to  sob;  but  the  desire  quickly  passed, 
and  with  a  dubious  shake  of  her  head  and  a  final 
suspicious  look  at  the  immobile  figure  in  the 
big  easy-chair,  she  seated  herself  in  her  accus- 
tomed place  some  distance  away  from  him.  And, 
in  some  incomprehensible  manner,  the  atmos- 
phere of  formality  which  he  deplored  seemed  to 
drop  between  them  like  an  invisible,  but  effect- 
ual, curtain. 

'  You  have  told  me  nothing,"  said  she,  cross- 

[179] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ing  her  slim  ankles  and  arranging  her  skirts 
over  them;  her  composure  was  now  admirable. 
'  You  have  not  even  expressed  an  opinion  on 
the  remarkable  story  which  I  have  just  told 
you." 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  avowed  the  belief  that  Doro- 
thy was  not  dead.  It  would  require  more  than 
the  irresponsible  outburst  of  an  hysterical  in- 
valid to  convince  me  otherwise.  As  for  the  rest 
of  your  story,  I  can  make  very  little  of  it  —  as 
yet.  But  we  are  gathering  together  a  number 
of  clews  that  are  going  to  direct  us  to  some- 
thing —  some  development  —  and  that  right 
soon.  Like  the  estimable  Mr.  Flint,  we  shall 
follow  them  diligently,  whether  or  not  they  lead 
us  anywhere." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Flint?" 

Mr.  Cole  waved  a  hand. 

"  Such  is  fame,"  said  he.  "  Mr.  Flint  is  the 
humble  disciple  of  Sherlock  Holmes  who  sought 
to  entertain  us  at  St.  Stephen-the-Martyr's  Tues- 
day night." 

"  Oh  —  he !  If  we  were  obliged  to  depend 
upon  a  person  like  that  to  find  Dorothy,  I  am 
afraid  she  would  remain  lost  to  us  forever  "  — 

[180] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

and  after  a  pause  she  doubtfully  added  —  "if 
she  is  not  already." 

"  Your  tone  implies  a  lack  of  faith  in  Mr. 
Flint.  But  he  assures  me  he  is  following  cer- 
tain clews;  in  fancy  I  can  see  him,  red  and  per- 
spiring-, as  he  runs  at  top-speed,  this  way  and 
that,  in  pursuit  of  the  nimble  and  elusive  clew; 
so  do  not  disparage  his  modest  efforts.  Per- 
haps he  is  even  now  quite  winded  and  col- 
lapsed. However,  let  us  return  to  our  own 
clews." 

"You  seem  to  relish  that  word;  I  detest  it; 
I  think  it  horrid,"  said  Edith,  her  lips  assum- 
ing a  distasteful  curve. 

"  My  dear  Edith,  it  is  classic.  Without  a  clew 
we  could  not  successfully  penetrate  this  laby- 
rinth—  or,  at  any  rate,  we  might  not  find  our 
way  out  again. 

"  For  example,"  pursued  he,  discursively, 
"  there  is  the  yellow  crayon.  It  is  indubitably 
used  for  some  purpose  by  Dorothy's  enemies  — 
as  a  means  of  communication,  I  have  reason  for 
believing;  therefore,  anybody  addicted  to  the 
yellow  crayon  habit  is  open  to  suspicion.  I 
must  admit,  though,  a  reluctance  to  suspect 

[181] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Miss  Letitia  of  complicity  in  such  a  plot  as  we 
are  now  confronting." 

He  told  her  of  the  yellow  symbol  on  the  top 
step  of  the  Gibbs  mansion,  the  yellow  circle  on 
the  message  in  the  reliquary,  the  yellow  circle 
on  the  gate-post  of  the  abandoned  house,  and 
of  his  unexpected  view  of  Cullimore  so  near  the 
latter. 

"  And  now,"  he  inquired  in  conclusion,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  this  idea:  the  yellow  circles  are 
merely  crude  representations  of  a  —  " 

She  clapped  her  hands  with  sudden  enthusi- 
asm and  took  the  words  out  of  his  mouth. 

"A  gilt  band!"  she  cried. 

"  Exactly." 

"  But  what  do  they  mean?  " 

Cole  shook  his  head. 

"  Let  us  revert  a  moment  to  Miss  Letitia," 
said  he.  "Is  she  unconscious?  —  raving?" 

"  No,  not  unconscious,  and  scarcely  raving  in 
the  sense  that  she  is  delirious.  Her  manner  was 
wild,  frenzied  to  an  extreme,  when  I  left  her; 
but  she  comprehended  all  I  said  to  her.  After 
her  last  dreadful  assertion  that  Dorothy  was 
dead,  though,  I  could  draw  no  more  from  her. 

[182] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

My  persistence  seemed  to  make  her  condition 
worse,  and  I  was  obliged  to  desist,  even  before 
the  doctor  arrived." 

Cole  was  now  convinced  that  it  was  Miss 
Letitia  who  had  procured  the  reliquary  from 
Dorothy's  cabinet.  There  must  have  been  an 
intermediary,  however,  for  she  herself  had  not 
carried  it  all  the  way  to  Lecomte's. 

But  the  fact  that  Dorothy's  aunt  was  respon- 
sible for  the  reliquary  served  only  to  make  the 
riddle  more  insoluble  than  ever. 

"  I  will  get  you  a  piece  of  yellow  chalk,"  he 
resumed.  He  produced  his  card-case  and  took 
out  a  card,  and  with  his  fountain-pen  drew  three 
circles  on  the  back  of  it.  In  one  he  wrote  "  Kt 
c-32  c "  —  the  symbol  discovered  on  Gibbs's 
doorstep;  in  the  second,  "  Kt  B-118,"  which 
had  been  enclosed  by  the  small  circle  on  the 
typewritten  sheet  in  the  reliquary,  and  in  the 
third  a  capital  letter  "  M." 

"  As  soon  as  you  have  an  opportunity,"  said 
he,  "  try  Miss  Letitia  with  these.  Spring  them 
upon  her  suddenly;  take  her  unawares;  and  ob- 
serve the  result.  Can  you  do  that?" 

"  Yes-s-s,"  she  faltered.     "  But  it  seems  so 

[183] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

clandestine  —  so  like  taking  an  unfair  advan- 
tage." 

"  I  do  not  believe  Miss  Letitia  deserves  such 
nice  distinctions  of  honor.  Anyhow,  we  must  not 
be  squeamish  —  if  you  want  to  find  Dorothy." 

'  Would  n't  water-colors  do  as  well  as  chalk? 
My  box  will  provide  the  shade." 

"  I  don't  see  why  not.  Any  shade  will  do  — 
so  it  is  a  brilliant,  glaring  yellow;  the  hue  that 
assaults  the  eyesight  like  a  lightning  flash.  Will 
you  attempt  it? " 

*  Yes,"  said  she,  with  decision  this  time. 

"  And  now,"  complained  Cole,  "  you  have 
not  evinced  the  least  curiosity  concerning  my 
adventures." 

"Why!"  with  unfeigned  surprise,  "have  you 
experienced  any?" 

His  lips  curved  ruefully. 

"  Indeed,"  said  he,  with  an  injured  air,  "  did 
you  think  I  was  still  absorbed  in  thought?  You 
seemed  to  apprehend  yesterday  morning  that  the 
process  would  be  somewhat  complicated,  but  I 
assure  you  I  have  come  successfully  through  that 
ordeal.  I  have  since  been  quite  active;  I  have 
accomplished  quite  as  much  as  you  have." 

[184] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

She  lifted  her  brows  in  polite  incredulity. 

"  Did  some  horrid  truckman  spatter  you  witK 
mud?  Or  perhaps  Freddie  Dupont  sat  down  on 
your  hat  —  exciting  indeed!  " 

He  smiled  tolerantly. 

"  If  Freddie  Dupont  had  sat  upon  my  new 
Fedora,  the  sequel  would  have  been  much  more 
exciting,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  than  any  episode  of 
my  adventures.  But,  as  it  is,  the  chronicle  of  the 
past  twenty-four  hours  will  be  spirited  enough." 

With  an  assumption  of  ennui  that  almost  de- 
ceived Mr.  Cole,  Miss  Edith  stifled  a  yawn  and 
remarked : 

"  I  daresay  I  shall  not  be  bored  —  if  it  does 
not  take  too  long." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  concise,"  said  the  imper- 
turbable young  man.  "  I  have  found  the  man 
with  the  scar." 

Nor  did  he  so  much  as  smile  when  she  at  once 
dropped  her  mask  of  indifference  and  turned 
excitedly  to  him. 

"Foster!"  cried  she,  "you  have  really  found 
him?" 

"I  have  —  " 

She  exclaimed  again  delightedly. 

[185] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  —  and  I  have  n't,"  concluded  he,  with  irritat- 
ing deliberation. 

"Oh!" 

The  interjection  was  so  eloquent  of  disappoint- 
ment that  he  relented  and  hastened  to  add: 

"He  is  like  the  Irishman's  flea:  when  you 
place  your  hand  upon  him,  he  is  n't  there  —  but 
I  fear  I  am  boring  you." 

"  Oh,  do  go  on!  "  with  eager  impatience.  "  I 
know  you  are  the  most  tormenting  creature  that 
ever  breathed  the  breath  of  life." 

;<  Well,  at  any  rate  I  know  where  to  find  him. 
Unless  something  has  transpired  to  scare  him 
away,  I  think  he  can  be  produced  at  any  time. 
How  will  you  have  him  served? " 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  doubtfully.  In 
a  moment,  — 

"  Foster,  are  you  in  earnest  ? "  she  demanded. 

"  Indeed  I  am.    I  made  a  particular  effort  - 
as  soon  as  I  comprehended  that  you  were  really 
interested  —  to  convey  the  matter  exactly.     I 
hope  to  see  him  to-night." 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  all  about  it! " 

She  was  animated  enough  now,  and  the  young 
man  went  patiently  into  details  —  of  his  long 

[186] 


COMPARING  NOTES 

cab  ride  and  his  interview  with  Dan  Fogarty. 
Before  he  rose  to  depart  he  disclosed  his  plan  to 
call  upon  his  acquaintance  who  was  high  up  in 
police  circles. 

"  Inspector  Swift,"  said  he,  "  is  a  man  of  wide 
experience  and  has  a  vast  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  Besides,  he  is  uncommonly  intelligent 
—  a  type  quite  different  from  Mr.  Flint.  Now, 
between  us,  we  have  the  clews  —  pardon  me, 
the  facts  —  and  Inspector  Swift  is  the  man  — 
if  anybody  is  —  to  weave  them  together  so  they 
will  mean  something.  If  I  get  time,  I  intend 
dropping  in  on  that  Leporello  chap,  too." 

Although  he  was  obliged  to  call  upon  all  his 
self-restraint,  he  managed  to  part  from  Eidith 
without  again  transgressing.  He  found  con- 
siderable satisfaction  in  the  circumstance  that  she 
did  not  again  allude  to  the  termination  of  their 
chummy  intimacy. 


[187] 


CHAPTER   XIV 

ON   THE   THRESHOLD 

TNSPECTOR  SWIFT  was  a  very  busy 
•••  man.  From  his  office  at  police  headquar- 
ters he  exercised  a  supervision  over  Williams- 
burg's  detective  force,  distributed  by  means  of 
branch  stations  over  a  wide  area,  that  was  well- 
nigh  perfect.  In  fact,  it  was  generally  believed 
by  his  subordinates  that  the  Inspector  was  om- 
niscient, for  certain  it  was  that  the  least  derelic- 
tion from  duty,  or  negligence,  occurring  at  any 
of  the  sub-stations  was  known  at  headquarters 
almost  as  soon  as  it  happened.  As  a  conse- 
quence the  men  entertained  a  wholesome  fear 
of  their  chief,  but  a  fear  moderated  by  respect, 
because  they  also  knew  that  he  was  ever  just. 
He  was,  indeed,  saved  from  being  a  martinet 
by  his  strict  adherence  to  a  wise  code  of  justice. 
Personally  he  was  a  large,  handsome  man, 
some  fifty-odd  years  of  age,  with  iron-gray  hair 
and  a  white,  curling  moustache  which,  together 

[188] 


ON  THE   THRESHOLD 

gave  him  an  air  of  distinction,  and  an  eye  whose 
unwavering  metallic  regard  stamped  him  as  an 
individual  of  extraordinary  force  of  character. 
However,  unless  deliberately  called  into  play, 
the  man's  masterful  personality  was  tempered  by 
a  courtly  air  and  a  polite  manner  of  speech  which 
marked  his  customary  bearing.  Yet  he  was  re- 
garded as  a  taciturn  man,  unless  the  occasion  to 
talk  was  obvious. 

Cole  was  immediately  shown  into  his  office. 
Inspector  Swift  gave  him  one  quick  glance  of 
recognition,  waved  him  to  a  seat  placed  vis-a-vis, 
and  then  assumed  an  attitude  which  suggested 
that  he  was  ready  to  pay  close  heed  to  whatever 
his  caller  might  have  to  say.  Cole  was  pleasantly 
impressed  with  the  fact  that  this  self-contained 
man  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  appropriate  more  of  your 
time  than  is  necessary,  Mr.  Inspector,"  began 
the  young  man,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated,  "  but  I 
believe  I  can  excite  your  interest  in  a  case  toward 
which  the  police  have  been  rather  lukewarm." 

The  Inspector  waited  to  hear  what  case. 

"  I  refer  to  the  Day  disappearance,"  was  Cole's 
reply  to  the  unspoken  question. 

[189] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Instantly  Inspector  Swift  pivoted  around  to 
a  sheet-iron  filing-case,  and  in  a  moment  pro- 
duced therefrom  a  long  manilla  envelope.  It 
contained  one  folded  sheet  of  paper  covered  with 
typewriting. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged  Cole  continued: 

"By  saying  the  police  have  been  lukewarm, 
do  not  understand  me  as  intending  a  reflection 
upon  Mr.  Flint.  Apparently  it  was  not  a  crim- 
inal case,  and  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  take 
hold  of.  I  can  see  that  his  report  was  brief  " ; 
the  young  man  glanced  at  the  envelope  and 
smiled,  —  "I  can  even  surmise  its  nature. 

"  Miss  Day,  however,  did  not  run  away  with 
anybody  —  I  mean,  voluntarily  —  and  in  trying 
to  discover  what  did  become  of  her,  I  have  turned 
up  some  mighty  queer  things." 

Inspector  Swift  thrust  the  typewritten  sheet 
back  into  the  envelope,  which  he  tossed  upon  his 
desk. 

"  Do  I  interest  you? "  inquired  Cole. 

The  other  inclined  his  head. 

"  You  called  the  turn  on  that  report,"  said  he, 
his  eyes  crinkling  in  a  smile.  "  Mr.  Gibbs  is  an 
intimate  friend  of  yours,  I  take  it  for  granted." 

[190] 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD 

"  He  is;  Miss  Day  also." 

"  Proceed  —  from  the  beginning  —  and  take 
your  time." 

This  invitation  Cole  promptly  obeyed.  He 
first  repeated  Edith's  story  of  what  had  occurred 
at  the  church,  he  recounted  the  episode  of  the 
brass  reliquary,  Officer  Spotwood's  adventure 
with  the  speeding  motor  car,  his  own  with  the 
scarred  stranger,  Edith's  experience  with  Sarah 
Kemp  and  Miss  Letitia,  the  Leporello  episode  — 
everything,  in  fact,  which  he  thought  might  bear 
even  remotely  upon  the  case. 

But  in  the  telling  he  refrained  from  mention- 
ing the  yellow  symbols  until  the  last.  He  was 
governed  by  a  well-defined  reason  for  so  doing: 
he  observed  that  the  Inspector,  at  those  stages 
of  the  narrative  which  he  considered  especially 
significant,  permitted  his  eyes  to  apprise  him 
of  the  fact,  although  otherwise  he  sat  as 
motionless  as  a  sphinx;  and  the  frequent  men- 
tion of  the  gilt  band  elicited  no  such  gleam  of 
appreciation. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Cole  when  he  got  to  this 
point,  "  after  I  had  seen  Miss  Gervaise  safely 
home  Tuesday  night,  I  went  to  Lecomte's  house. 

[191] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

The  entry  steps  are  white  marble,  and  on  the  top 
one  somebody  had  drawn  this  figure." 

With  the  last  words  he  produced  from  his 
pocket  a  stick  of  yellow  crayon,  with  which  he 
had  provided  himself  for  this  very  purpose,  and 
drew  the  symbol  upon  the  floor: 


"  The  warning  in  the  reliquary  bore  in  the 
upper  left-hand  corner  a  small  symbol  like  this." 


No  exclamation  escaped  the  Inspector,  but 
the  atmosphere  became  fairly  galvanic  with  his 
interest  before  Cole  had  completed  the  second 
loop.  He  took  the  crayon  from  the  young 
man's  fingers. 

[1921 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD 

"  I  have  never  before  seen  just  those,"  said 
he,  his  composure  unruffled;  "but  I  am  familiar 
with  this." 

And  he  quickly  drew  beside  the  two  figures  a 
facsimile  of  the  one  Cole  had  seen  on  the  gate- 
post: 


"And  I  have  seen  that,  too,"  remarked  Cole; 
"  had  you  given  me  time,  I  would  have  drawn  it 
myself." 

"  Have  you  seen  it  recently?  "  Inspector  Swift 
turned  upon  him  keenly. 

"  Yesterday  afternoon." 

"  Where? " 

"  On  the  gate-post  of  an  empty  house  that  faces 
number  seventy-one  B Street." 

For  a  long  pause  the  two  men  sat  silently  re- 
turning each  other's  look.  That  of  the  Inspector 
was  peculiarly  penetrating.  At  last  the  latter 
broke  the  silence;  he  wheeled  his  chair  around 
to  the  desk  and  pressed  a  button,  remarking, 
quietly : 

is  [ 193  ] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Mr.  Cole,  I  'm  glad  you  came  to  see  me 
to-day." 

Then  the  office  door  opened,  and  to  the  person 
standing  there  the  Inspector  said: 

"  Tell  Vawter  to  come  here." 

"  But  there  is  one  little  detail  that  seems  not 
to  have  occurred  to  you,"  observed  Cole,  as  the 
figure  vanished  from  the  doorway;  "  Miss  Ger- 
vaise  was  quick  to  see  it  —  " 

*  You  mean  a  possible  connection  between  the 
yellow  circles  and  your  gilt  band? "  Swift  inter- 
rupted. "  I  '11  tell  you  something,  Mr.  Cole ; 
you  deserve  to  know  it,  and  I  shall  trust  to  your 
discretion  that  it  goes  no  further. 

"  For  some  months  the  police  in  every  impor- 
tant city  in  the  United  States  have  been 
aware  of  the  activities  of  what  is  perhaps  the 
shrewdest  and  most  unscrupulous  gang,  of  crimi- 
nals with  which  we  have  ever  had  to  cope.  Their 
operations,  apparently,  cover  every  branch  of 
crime. 

"  Now,  during  the  past  two  weeks  we  have 
been  repeatedly  coming  in  contact  with  them 
right  here  in  Williamsburg,  and  that  is  about  the 
most  I  can  say  of  what  we  have  accomplished  in 

[194] 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD 

the  way  of  running  them  down  —  a  task  whicli 
the  police  of  the  country  are  united  in.  A  num- 
ber of  recent  local  crimes  have  been  traced  to 
this  Yellow  Circle  crowd;  but  the  abduction  of 
a  young  lady  of  Miss  Day's  standing  is,  1 11  de- 
clare, quite  the  limit.  I  pledge  you  the  assist- 
ance of  the  entire  department,  Mr.  Cole,  in 
your  efforts  to  clear  up  this  mystery  of  Miss 
Day." 

The  possibilities  opened  up  by  this  amazing 
information  almost  took  away  the  young  man's 
breath;  Miss  Letitia's  assertion  that  Dorothy 
was  dead  did  not  seem  so  absurd  in  the  light  of  it. 

It  was  indeed  startling  that  an  association  with 
avowed  criminal  purposes  and  of  such  magnitude 
could  come  into  existence  at  all;  it  was  posi- 
tively alarming  that  it  could  continue  for  any 
considerable  length  of  time,  and  that  the  police 
of  the  entire  country  should  remain  absolutely 
baffled  before  its  evil  power. 

:c  There  is  a  master  mind  behind  it,"  the  In- 
spector broke  in  upon  his  reflections,  "  a  giant 
intellect,  a  veritable  prodigy  of  crime  and  organi- 
zation. Mr.  Cole,  I  would  be  almost  willing  to 
sacrifice  my  position,  jealous  as  I  am  of  it,  in 

[195] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

return  for  meeting  that  man  face  to  face."    The 
speaker  pointed  to  the  floor. 

'  That  yellow  circle,"  said  he,  impressively,  "  is 
their  trademark." 

Full  of  wonder,  Cole  failed  to  hear  a  light  tap 
on  the  door,  or  the  door  opening.  He  was  un- 
aware of  another  presence  until  he  saw  a  man 
standing  motionless  beside  Inspector  Swift's 
desk. 

"  Vawter,"  Swift  was  saying,  "  tell  Mr.  Cole 
about  the  B—  -  Street  house  —  all  that  is  known 
up  to  this  minute." 

"  It  is  very  little  more  than  was  known  at  the 
time  of  finding  the  body  — 

Cole's  aplomb  utterly  forsook  him. 

"Body!"  shouted  he.  "In  Heaven's  name, 
what  body?  " 

:<  That  we  don't  know,  sir,  no  more  —  " 

Here  the  Inspector  interrupted. 

"Mr.  Cole  knows  nothing  about  it,  Vawter; 
I  told  you  to  begin  at  the  beginning." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;   I  did  n't  understand. 

"  It  was  this  way,"  turning  again  to  Cole : 
"  last  night  Patrolman  Riley  heard  considerable 
talk  about  some  young  fellow  in  a  motor  cab 

[11XJJ 


ON  THE   THRESHOLD 

having  stopped  at  the  B Street  house  the 

day  before,  and  acting  in  such  a  way  as  to  attract 
everybody's  attention.  It 's  a  pretty  tough  neigh- 
borhood, and  as  a  rule  the  people  living  there 
mind  their  own  business;  but  the  man  in  the 
motor  cab  certainly  created  something  of  a 
stir." 

Cole  and  the  Inspector  exchanged  knowing 
glances. 

"  Well,  Riley  could  n't  make  much  of  the  gos- 
sip," Vawter  went  on;  "but  some  time  after 
midnight  a  fellow  told  him  that  a  wagon  had 
driven  up  the  alley  at  the  rear  of  the  empty  house, 
and  that  two  men  had  unloaded  something  and 
carried  it  inside.  Then  Riley  made  up  his  mind 
to  investigate. 

"  It  was  mighty  ticklish  business  walking 
around  over  the  rotten  floors,  and  luckily  Riley 
did  n't  have  to  go  far.  In  the  kitchen  he  stum- 
bled over  the  dead  body  of  a  man." 

The  speaker  produced  a  card  and  handed  it 
to  Cole. 

"  This  was  pinned  to  his  coat,"  said  he. 

The  card  was  blank  save  for  one  word,  printed 
in  capitals  with  a  lead  pencil: 

[1971 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

"TRAITOR!" 

—  and  beneath  it  a  yellow  circle. 

By  the  time  Cole  was  ready  to  return  the  card 
he  had  recovered  his  composure. 

"  Not  a  nice  epitaph,"  observed  he.  "  Am  I 
to  understand  that  you  do  not  know  the  victim?  " 

Vawter  shook  his  head. 

"  So  far,"  he  supplemented,  "  we  have  failed 
to  identify  him  or  to  determine  where  or  by  what 
means  he  met  his  death.  There  are  no  marks  on 
the  body  —  that  is,  none  of  any  special  conse- 
quence. Yet  we  have  reasons  for  believing  the 
man  was  murdered  —  " 

"  He  has  in  mind  the  yellow  circle  on  the  gate- 
post," the  Inspector  interpolated. 

"True,"  said  Vawter.  "That  is  aU  I  can 
think  of." 

"  Oh,  no,  Vawter,"  suggested  his  superior. 

"  You  mean  the  condition  of  his  clothes? " 
Vawter  returned,  after  wrhich  he  turned  to  Cole. 
'  That  has  been  a  very  puzzling  feature,  Mr. 
Cole.  The  man's  left  sleeves  —  of  the  coat,  shirt, 
and  undershirt  —  had  been  cut  with  some  sharp 
blade  clear  to  the  shoulder,  leaving  the  entire 
arm  bare.  On  the  upper  arm  were  the  only 

[198] 


ON  THE   THRESHOLD 

marks  we  were  able  to  discover  on  the  body  — 
a  few  trifling  scratches." 

Inspector  Swift  watched  Cole  with  an  intent 
but  illegible  expression  while  Vawter  proceeded 
with  his  recital. 

"  At  this  same  point  an  expanse  of  skin  an 
inch  or  such  a  matter  wide,  which  was  much 
whiter  than  the  adjoining  surface,  encircled  the 
arm.  The  white  strip  was  so  plain  that  it 
amounted  to  a  conspicuous  mark.  Slide  that 
ring  down  on  your  finger,  Mr.  Cole  —  that 's  it. 
There,  where  the  ring  has  been  worn,  —  that  is 
just  the  way  the  man's  arm  looked." 

The  young  man  whistled.  He  slid  the  ring 
back  to  its  place,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
noted  the  Inspector's  intent  regard. 

"Well!"  he  said.  "The  gilt  band  that  I 
saw  would  just  about  encircle  an  average  man's 
arm;  the  uneven  ends  could  be  accounted  for  by 
the  fact  that  it  had  been  roughly  cut  or  filed  in 
two." 

Inspector  Swift  brought  the  palm  of  his  right 
hand  gently  down  upon  the  desk  top. 

"  Good!  "  he  breathed.  "  And  the  few  trifling 
abrasions  on  the  victim's  arm  can  be  accounted 

[199] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

for  by  the  hurried  filing  and  cutting."  Then  for 
Vawter's  benefit  he  told,  briefly,  the  intelligence 
brought  by  Cole  respecting  the  bands. 

'  What  a  rum  idea,"  remarked  Vawter,  con- 
templating the  fastidiously  attired  young  man 
with  an  added  interest  and  respect. 

"  Perhaps,  sir,"  he  suggested,  "  you  might  be 
able  to  identify  the  remains." 

"  I  am  willing  to  try,  at  any  rate,"  Cole  ac- 
quiesced. 

*  You  shall  have  the  opportunity  presently," 
said  Swift.  "  Vawter,  you  may  go." 

As  soon  as  the  two  were  once  more  alone,  the 
Inspector  went  on: 

"  Now  then,  Mr.  Cole,  I  want  to  put  you  on 
your  guard.  The  warning  of  those  fellows  is 
not  to  be  ignored.  The  bizarre  appearance  and 
disappearance  of  the  little  brass  box  containing 
the  gold  band  was  done  for  the  purpose  of  im- 
pressing you  with  their  earnestness,  and  to  dem- 
onstrate that  their  machinations  could  reach 
easily  even  into  the  privacy  of  your  homes.  If 
they  only  knew  how  keen  you  are  on  their  trail, 
I  would  n't  give  that  "  -  he  snapped  his  fingers 
—  "  for  your  life.  Be  careful." 

[200] 


ON  THE   THRESHOLD 

"  Thank  you,  I  shall,"  returned  Cole.  Then, 
with  abrupt  eagerness:  "But  look  here/'  cried 
he,  "  there  are  some  details  I  am  unable  to  recon- 
cile with  the  amazing  revelation  you  have  just 
made.  Why,  for  instance,  should  the  gilt  band 
have  produced  so  profound  an  effect  upon  Miss 
Day?  It  is  preposterous  to  associate  her  with 
anything  criminal;  waste  no  gray-matter  over 
that  idea." 

"  From  your  own  statement,  Mr.  Cole,  the 
article  was  not  unfamiliar  to  her." 

"  True,"  admitted  the  young  man.  "  But 
please  to  bear  in  mind  that  the  thing  struck  her 
with  horror." 

Swift  gravely  inclined  his  head,  saying: 

"  The  horror  of  remorse,  perhaps." 

"Remorse?  Rot!"  Cole  was  vehement. 
"What,  then,  of  Miss  Leonard?  Am  I  to  con- 
clude that  she  too  is  a  member  of  your  precious 
Yellow  Circle?  Pshaw!  you  don't  know  those 
ladies,  Mr.  Inspector." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  raised  this  question," 
returned  the  Inspector,  in  his  reserved  way. 
"  There  is  something  queer  there,  Mr.  Cole ; 
something  in  the  relations  of  those  three  women 

[201] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

—  Miss  Leonard,  Miss  Kemp,  and  Miss  Day  — 
that  requires  light." 

"  Miss  Gervaise  has  always  been  somewhat 
suspicious  of  Miss  Leonard,"  murmured  the 
young  man,  meditatively,  "  but  I  don't  know 
why." 

"Is  that  so?"  Inspector  Swift  appeared  in- 
terested. "  I  would  bank  more  on  the  intuition 
of  a  good  woman  than  personal  opinion  educed 
from  observation.  I  have  been  married  a  good 
many  years,  and  I  know. 

"  However,  there  is  something  in  this  connec- 
tion that  I  cannot  understand;  yet  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  I  will  venture  to  say  that  one  or  all 
of  those  three  ladies  could  give  us  a  good  deal 
of  information  about  the  ringleaders  of  this 
gang.  Understand  me:  by  making  such  an  as- 
sertion I  do  not  blame  or  reproach  the  ladies; 
these  fellows  are  no  common  malefactors ;  maybe 
the  ladies,  you  yourself,  or  Mr.  Gibbs,  have 
rubbed  elbows  with  them  socially,  and  if  that 's 
the  case,  why,  the  possibilities  for  getting  three 
unprotected  females  into  their  power  are  prac- 
tically unlimited." 

So  far  the  Inspector  spoke  with  a  grave  and 

[202] 


ON  THE  THRESHOLD 

impressive  earnestness ;  now  his  manner  abruptly 
altered  and  he  asked  sharply: 

"  By  the  way,  what  was  Miss  Day's  father's 
name? " 

"  Chauncey." 

Inspector  Swift  produced  a  huge  scrap-book 
from  a  drawer  of  his  desk,  and  opening  it  upon 
his  knees,  ran  through  its  pages  until  he  found 
what  he  sought.  It  proved  to  be  a  newspaper 
clipping. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  something  about  this," 
said  he,  handing  it  to  the  young  man. 

The  clipping  was  plainly  an  old  one,  and  had 
been  cut  from  some  paper's  classified  columns. 
It  read: 


PERSONAL.  — Chauncey  Day's  heirs.  If  rela- 
tives of  the  late  Chauncey  Day  will  communicate 
with  Lawrence  Winter-burn,  88  Board  of  Trade 
B'ld'g,  Williamsburg,  Pa.,  they  will  learn  some- 
thing to  their  advantage. 


"  Queer,"  returned  Cole.  "  I  know  this  much 
about  it:  Winterburn  is  Miss  Day's  attorney, 
and  has  been  during  her  residence  in  Williams- 
burg." 

'  Was  there  any  trouble  over  settling  her 
father's  estate?" 

[203] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  None  that  I  ever  heard  of.  She  was  an  only 
child.  Where  did  you  get  this  clipping?" 

"  It  was  sent  to  me  something  over  four  years 
ago  by  a  California  correspondent.  He  found 
it  in  a  San  Francisco  paper,  and,  believing  as  you 
do  about  the  estate,  he  was  very  curious  to  know 
what  it  meant  —  wanted  to  know  whether  I  could 
throw  any  light  on  it  at  this  end.  Day,  as  I 
understand  it,  died  rather  suddenly  and  under 
circumstances  that  should  have  invited  inquiry, 
although  I  believe  none  was  ever  made.  What 
do  you  know  about  that? " 

"No  more  than  that  he  died  suddenly;  but 
I  don't  believe  any  particularly  suspicious  cir- 
cumstances surrounded  his  death." 

"  Well,  that,  of  course,  is  off  my  beat  —  a  long 
way — but  I  carried  this  clipping  to  Winterburn." 

"Well?"  said  Cole,  much  interested. 

"  He  very  politely  gave  me  to  understand  that 
it  was  none  of  my  business."  Swift  smiled.  "  It 
was  n't,  and  I  came  away  again." 

The  young  man  scowled  at  the  bit  of  paper  as 
he  handed  it  back. 

"It  puzzles  me,"  he  said;  "I  cannot  even 
evolve  a  hypothesis  that  might  account  for  it.'* 

[204] 


ON  THE   THRESHOLD 

Inspector  Swift  rose  and  donned  his  uniform 
cap. 

"  Don't  neglect  my  warning,  Mr.  Cole ;  be 
constantly  on  your  guard. 

"  And  now,"  he  went  on,  "  suppose  we  take 
a  look  at  the  body.  It 's  at  Bramley's  private 
mortuary.  The  man's  apparent  station  in  life, 
and  the  fact  that  we  found  considerable  money 
on  him,  made  me  feel  that  we  would  n't  be  war- 
ranted in  exposing  him  in  the  public  morgue. 
News  of  finding  the  body  came  in  too  late  for 
the  morning  papers,  therefore  very  few  people 
have  viewed  it  so  far.  It  is  only  a  step  to 
Bramley's." 

"  You  have  been  unable  to  determine  the  cause 
of  death? "  inquired  Cole,  as  they  walked  along. 

"  Yes.  I  'm  pretty  good  at  that  sort  of  thing, 
too;  but  I  confess  this  case  has  beat  me  so  far. 
I  have  requested  Dr.  De  Breen  to  look  at  the 
body ;  if  the  cause  of  death  can  be  determined  at 
all,  he  's  the  man  that  can  do  it." 

In  a  few  minutes  Cole  was  standing  beside  the 
sheeted  form  on  its  marble  slab.  An  attendant 
switched  on  a  cluster  of  lights  immediately  over- 
head, and  then  handed  the  Inspector  a  card. 

[205] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"Dr.  De  Breen  has  just  left,"  he  explained. 
"  He  told  me  to  give  you  this,  if  you  called." 

The  officer  glanced  at  the  card,  and  a  curious 
expression  appeared  on  his  face;  he  then  passed 
the  card  on  to  his  companion. 

The  bit  of  pasteboard  bore  one  word  written 
thereon  in  a  large,  angular  hand:  "  Aconitine." 

"  What  does  it  mean? "  asked  Cole,  uncom- 
prehendingly. 

The  Inspector  nodded  toward  the  still  figure 
beneath  the  sheet,  replying: 

"  It  is  the  name  of  the  most  powerful  known 
poison  —  and  perhaps  the  hardest  to  detect." 

Then  the  attendant  turned  back  the  sheet,  and 
Cole  was  unable  to  restrain  a  start. 

"  Higdon !  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  horrified  whis- 
per; and,  facing  Inspector  Swift:  "  It  is  Arthur 
Higdon  —  Mr.  Gibbs's  valet." 


[206] 


CHAPTER  XV 

ANOTHER   WARNING 

BEFORE  taking  his  leave  of  Inspector 
Swift,  Cole  gave  him  all  the  information 
he  was  possessed  of  concerning  the  unfortunate 
Higdon,  which  was  indeed  very  little.  The  man 
had  been  in  Mr.  Gibbs's  employ  only  a  few 
days,  and  as  he  had  presented  himself  armed 
with  excellent  credentials,  the  magnate  had  not 
troubled  to  go  behind  them. 

Next  he  and  the  officer  considered  the  poten- 
tialities of  Miss  Day's  disappearance,  and  the 
two  men  —  the  novice  and  the  expert  —  finally 
agreed  upon  the  following  supposititious  details 
as  supplying  the  most  credible  theory. 

When  Miss  Day  sped  down  the  corridor  from 
the  vestry-room  she  had  been  seized  as  she  ran 
by  the  short  passage  leading  to  the  rector's  study, 
her  cries  muffled,  and  immediately  conveyed  to 
the  motor  car  which  was  waiting  in  the  alley. 
The  lights,  doubtless,  had  been  masked,  and  were 

[207] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

allowed  to  remain  so  until  the  car  cleared  the 
alley.  To  be  sure,  the  plan  had  been  an  extra- 
ordinarily bold  one;  but  having  before  them  the 
power  to  draw  the  girl  into  their  trap,  it  had 
been  comparatively  easy  to  spring  the  trap  itself. 
The  daring  of  the  undertaking  had  made  its 
execution  simple. 

The  abductors,  undoubtedly,  had  been  thor- 
oughly conversant  with  the  night's  programme; 
they  knew  that  the  corridor  would  be  dimly 
lighted,  and  that  even  should  they  encounter  any 
one,  their  presence  would  pass  unnoticed  among 
the  many  who  were  coming  and  going  about  the 
church.  Moreover,  they  had  been  confident  that 
the  corridor  would  be  empty  as  the  time  ap- 
proached for  the  ceremony,  and,  lastly,  that  the 
heavy  plush  curtain  which  hung  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  short  passage  leading  to  the  study 
might  harbor  them  indefinitely,  their  presence 
unsuspected. 

A  glance  at  the  appended  rough  chart  will 
make  plain  the  facility  with  which  such  a  plot 
could  be  executed. 

"  To  sum  up,"  said  Cole,  after  the  foregoing 
hypotheses  had  been  carefully  weighed,  "  the 

[208] 


ANOTHER  WARNING 

three  important  questions  to  solve  are:  What 
was  the  nature  of  the  message  brought  by  the 
intruder?  Who  were  the  perpetrators  of  the 
outrage?  and,  Where  is  Miss  Day  at  present?" 

The  officer  nodded,  adding, 

"  You  might  also  have  included  an  inquiry  as 


tisny 

ROOM 

A--S7WY 
B"  PASSAGE 
C--SIDEDOQR. 

TOALLBY 

to  the  motive  for  abducting  her  at  all;  as  I 
understand  it,  the  deed  was  committed  without 
any  forewarning." 

"  Unless  Miss  Day  was  brave  enough  not  to 
mention  any  threats  that  might  have  been  made 
before  Tuesday  night." 

"  But  the  question  uppermost  in  my  mind  is," 

14  [ 209  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

said  Swift,  "  Who  killed  Arthur  Higdon?  And 
I  think  when  your  questions  are  answered,  mine 
will  be  too.  Mr.  Cole,  we  are  in  the  midst  of 
a  very  pretty  mystery." 

In  this  last  sentiment  the  young  man  heartily 
agreed. 

"  But  don't  bother  Mr.  Savage  until  I  am 
through  with  him,"  said  he.  "  I  owe  that  ruf- 
fian something  on  my  own  account,  and  as  you 
are  not  yet  ready  to  make  any  arrests,  I  pledge 
you  that  I  will  wring  from  him  whatever  he 
knows  —  if  I  have  to  wring  his  neck  first." 

"  I  count  on  you  for  that,"  returned  the  In- 
spector. "  I  wish  you  were  one  of  my  force, 
Mr.  Cole;  you  missed  your  calling  by  not  be- 
coming a  detective.  But  I  'm  going  to  set  Flint 
to  watching  Savage;  it  won't  do  to  take  any 
chances  with  that  adroit  gang,  and  I  don't  pro- 
pose to  have  them  slip  through  my  fingers  at 
the  last  moment. 

"  I  think,  though,"  he  reflected,  "  you  will  not 
get  much  from  Mr.  Savage;  the  probability  is 
you  will  find  him  to  be  only  a  tool." 

"  Well,  I  shall  dull  the  edge  of  his  usefulness. 
And  also  I  have  an  idea  which  I  want  to  carry 

[210] 


ANOTHER   WARNING 

out  in  connection  with  Leporello:  have  you  a 
flash-light  you  would  lend  me? " 

"  Certainly.  But  I  don't  see  what  is  to  be 
gained  by  flashing  a  light  upon  him." 

"  Neither  do  I  —  yet.  There  's  a  reason, 
though,  besides  a  desire  to  mystify  and  impress 
susceptible  women,  for  him  keeping  his  identity 
so  secret.  Maybe  if  I  glimpse  his  features,  I 
shall  know  what  that  reason  is." 

"  Maybe.    But  be  careful,  Mr.  Cole." 

With  the  Inspector's  parting  injunction  ring- 
ing in  his  ears,  Cole  went  directly  to  Leporello's 
studio. 

The  seer's  apartments  were  in  a  fashionable 
quarter  of  the  city,  but  in  a  very  unfashionable 
building.  The  house  was  an  obsolete,  mansard- 
roofed  brick,  and  dreary  looking  in  its  slate- 
hued  paint  and  severe  squareness  of  outline.  It 
represented  a  quite  common  type  of  shabby  gen- 
tility, missed,  as  it  had  been,  by  the  wave  of  im- 
provement which  had  swept  over  the  remainder 
of  the  neighborhood.  There  was  a  well-kept 
lawn  with  flowers,  an  iron  fence  enclosing  the 
front,  and  a  brick  walk  connecting,  in  a  straight 
line,  the  gate  with  the  porch  steps. 

[211] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

From  the  neat  black  and  gilt  sign  fastened  to 
an  iron  rod  on  the  lawn,  the  visitor  concluded 
that  Leporello  occupied  the  entire  house. 

A  dainty  maid  —  Parisian  from  the  tips  of 
her  ridiculously  small,  high-heeled  slippers,  to 
the  contrast  between  her  black,  short-skirted 
dress  and  the  white  apron  and  cap  —  admitted 
him.  He  smiled  at  her  as  he  recognized  Eidith's 
soubrette. 

Yes,  Monsieur  Leporello  would  doubtless  see 
him  presently.  If  so,  he  would  make  known  his 
willingness ;  if  not  —  well,  soit!  Monsieur  might 
as  well  go  away  again.  No,  she  required  no 
card;  Monsieur  Leporello  would  know  Mon- 
sieur's name. 

Cole  was  sceptical;  but  he  was  not  particu- 
larly desirous  of  thrusting  his  card  upon  a  man 
whom  he  believed  to  be  a  charlatan  and  a  cheat. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  just  a  trifle  startled  a 
few  minutes  later  when  a  voice  from  the  alcove 
addressed  him  by  name,  and  considerably  more 
so  when  the  mystic  fished  up  from  his  bag  some 
details  of  his  army  life  which  he  had  hoped  were 
forgotten. 

It  had  been  Cole's  intention  suddenly  to  flash 

[212] 


ANOTHER   WARNING 

the  light  while  the  seer  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
patter,  in  the  hope  of  catching  him  unprepared; 
but  he  became  so  interested  in  the  voice  and 
what  it  was  saying  that  he  stood  irresolutely 
fingering  the  tube  in  his  coat  pocket  and  hesi- 
tating from  second  to  second  to  draw  it  forth. 

He  could  perceive  no  shadowy  outline  of  a 
human  form  in  the  darkened  alcove,  as  Edith 
professed  she  had.  The  gleaming  sphere  of 
crystal  seemed  to  blind  him,  for  between  the 
looped,  ebon-hued  curtains  beyond  there  was 
nothing  but  utter  blackness,  and  in  the  midst 
of  that  blackness  a  hollow,  uncanny  human  voice 
telling  strange  things.  The  young  man  pres- 
ently admitted  to  himself  that  the  experience 
was  positively  weird. 

However,  when  Leporello  mentioned  Edith's 
name  he  interrupted. 

'  You  will  please  refrain  from  mentioning  any 
lady's  name,"  said  he,  pleasantly.  "  It  is  quite 
enough  to  take  so  many  liberties  with  mine." 

"  As  Mr.  Cole  chooses,"  returned  the  voice, 
with  the  arid  disinterestedness  of  third-person 
address.  '  That  being  the  case,  the  reading  is. 
at  an  end." 

[213] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Cole  gripped  the  lantern,  his  thumb  on  the 
button.  But  still  he  hesitated;  the  voice  did 
not  pause. 

"  Mr.  Cole  has  heard  enough,  however,  to  be 
convinced  of  my  ability  to  bring  hidden  things 
to  light." 

"  What !  "  surprised,  "  in  this  Stygian  dark- 
ness? Light  in  here,  my  dear  Voice,  can  be  but 
a  figure  of  speech;  that  being  true,  any  gossip 
might  honestly  make  the  same  boast." 

A  pause  followed;  then  Cole  detected  an 
angry  note. 

"  I  resent  your  frivolous  attitude  of  mind," 
said  the  voice ;  "  my  calling  is  a  dignified  one, 
worthy  the  most  profound  respect.  Indeed,  I 
demand  that  —  " 

Cole  interrupted.  The  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
was,  of  course,  lost  in  the  darkness,  but  the  con- 
tumelious tone  of  his  voice  was  not.  He  had 
the  electric  lamp  out  of  his  pocket  now  and  was 
holding  it  behind  him. 

'  That  is  all  owing  to  the  way  one  may  look 
at  it.  If  it  is  honorable  to  spend  one's  time 
delving  into  other  people's  past  lives  for  the  pur- 
pose of  startling  them  later  on  by  flinging  petty 

[214] 


ANOTHER  WARNING 

personalities  into  their  faces  —  if  to  be  a  scav- 
enger of  one's  peccadilloes  is  dignified  —  then 
you  command  my  profoundest  respect.  Have 
you  any  more  of  my  idiosyncrasies  to  air? " 

Not  a  sound  came  from  the  alcove.  Cole, 
smiling  in  the  darkness,  waited  perhaps  one 
second;  then  he  brushed  aside  the  small  round 
table  which  supported  the  crystal,  the  globe  fall- 
ing with  a  muffled  thud  upon  the  heavy  carpet; 
he  lifted  the  drapery  and  directed  a  beam  of 
light  into  the  alcove. 

It  was  empty. 

Nor  was  there  any  sign  of  trap-door  or  secret 
passage.  Cole  flashed  the  beam  of  light  this 
way  and  that,  chagrined,  half  expecting  to  hear 
a  mocking  laugh  flung  back  at  him  from  some 
invisible  source;  but  the  place  was  utterly  silent 
and  empty. 

He  was  in  the  act  of  sounding  the  walls  with 
his  knuckles,  when  the  outer  door  was  thrown 
violently  open,  the  room  was  flooded  with  day- 
light, and  the  maid  addressed  him  angrily  from 
the  threshold. 

"  QuJ  est  que  vous  faites  done? "  cried  she* 
"  Sortez! " 

[215] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  I  am  not  familiar  with  your  language,  my 
dear,"  returned  he,  with  a  smile;  "  but  I  surmise 
I  am  invited  to  —  er  —  depart.  How  about  my 
request  to  see  Monsieur  Leporello?  I  shall  be 
overwhelmed  with  disappointment  if  I  fail  in 
my  errand." 

The  pretty  figure  was  drawn  up  primly  stern. 
She  ignored  his  manner. 

;<  The  charge  for  a  reading  is  twenty  dollars," 
she  said. 

The  young  man's  uplifted  brows  expressed 
surprise  at  this  exorbitance,  but  he  protested 
only  mildly. 

"  I  am  expected  to  pay  for  my  fun,  I  see," 
said  he.  "  I  have  been  much  amused,  mademoi- 
selle, but  not  to  that  extent.  I  would  much 
rather  remain  with  —  " 

"If  monsieur  cannot  afford  it,"  she  calmly 
broke  in,  "  of  course  he  will  be  considered  a 
guest,  and  treated  accordingly.  Monsieur  Le- 
porello is  of  a  beegness  of  heart  that  turns  no 
unfortunate  away." 

Cole  chuckled. 

:<  Why,  if  you  put  it  upon  that  high  ground, 
my  dear,  I  suppose  my  hands  must  go  up.  I 

F2161 


ANOTHER  WARNING 

would  never  have  stooped  to  bargain  with  one 
so  fair  if  I  thought  the  money  would  not  go 
beyond  your  pretty  fingers.  Those  eyes  are 
more  potent  and  persuasive  than  a  brace  of  six- 
shooters  ;  here 's  a  trifle  more  —  for  yourself. 
And  now,  which  way  must  I  turn  in  this  maze 
of  fantastic  corridors  to  find  the  hidden  oracle?  " 

The  "  pretty  fingers  "  closed  decisively  upon 
the  money,  but  further  than  that  the  girl  merely] 
looked  her  bewilderment. 

"  I  mean  Monsieur  Leporello,"  he  explained 
—  "  although  *  Signor  '  would  be  a  more  appro- 
priate title  of  courtesy,  my  dear  —  how  may  I 
see  him? " 

"  C'est  difficile  —  impossible !  That  is  a  pleas- 
ure I  have  nevaire  myself  enjoyed." 

Cole  stared  his  amazement. 

"What!"  exclaimed  he.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say  you  have  never  seen  your  employer?  " 

"It  is  true,"  returned  the  girl,  simply.  "  It 
is  his  secretaire  who  instructs  me." 

After  another  moment's  scrutiny  of  the  petite 
figure  and  small,  piquant  face,  Cole  concluded 
that  she  did  speak  truth,  or  else  she  was  the  most 
admirable  dissembler  he  had  ever  encountered. 

[217] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Well  then,  the  secretary,"  said  he,  "  where 
is  he?" 

"  Ah,"  was  the  response,  "  he  is  only  here  on 


occasions." 


Cole  considered.  It  presently  began  to  dawn 
in  his  mind  that  the  seer  had  been  at  some  pains 
indeed  to  keep  his  identity  concealed;  why,  if 
the  girl  did  not  lie,  she  might  pass  him  right 
there  in  the  hall  and  not  know  him!  A  man 
who  hid  himself  with  such  diabolical  cleverness 
was  not  to  be  got  at  easily,  and  the  young  man 
at  last  concluded  that  it  would  be  quite  useless 
to  persist  in  his  attempt  —  for  the  present,  at 
any  rate. 

As  he  sauntered  along  the  street  some  blocks 
distant  from  the  studio,  his  communings  were  of 
a  sudden  broken  in  upon  by  wheels  grinding 
against  the  curb  beside  him.  He  looked  up 
quickly  and  beheld  a  closed  carriage.  The  glass 
nearest  him  was  down,  but  the  curtains  were 
drawn  so  that  he  could  not  see  the  interior. 
Instantly  the  horses  were  brought  to  a  standstill, 
a  hand  was  thrust  through  the  curtains,  and  a 
bit  of  folded  paper  held  out  to  him. 

He  took  it  in  a  dazed  way,  half  mechanically; 
[218] 


ANOTHER  WARNING 

at  once  the  driver  whipped  up  his  horses,  and 
in  a  moment  more  the  vehicle  had  disappeared. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  from  his  astonish- 
ment at  this  amazing  rencontre,  he  unfolded  the 
paper  and  read  the  following  typewritten  words : 

"  The  writer  does  not  willingly  resort  to  violence  on 
any  occasion.  Violence  is  always  deplorable.  But  if 
you  do  not  desist  from  the  quest  upon  which  you  are 
now  bent,  you  will  be  put  out  of  the  way  as  inevitably 
as  the  stars  pursue  their  courses.  In  your  ignorance 
you  are  interfering  with  something  you  know  nothing 
of.  Stop  before  it  is  too  late.  This  is  the  second  and 
last  warning;  you  have  only  to  persist  in  your  pres- 
ent undertaking  to  learn  the  sequel.  Beware!  " 

"  Oh,  to  the  devil  with  such  tommyrot! "  was 
Mr.  Cole's  disgusted  comment  as  he  crushed  the 
warning  in  his  hand.  But  then  the  Inspector's 
advice  to  be  on  his  guard  came  as  a  second 
thought,  and  he  carefully  smoothed  the  paper 
out  again. 

"  Perhaps  he  would  like  to  see  it,"  he  reflected. 
"  Well,  I  shall  be  vigilant ;  but  I  am  going  right 
now  to  see  if  I  cannot  unearth  Mr.  Savage  by 
daylight.  Why  be  idle  till  night? " 

[219} 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   MAN   WITH   THE   SCAB 

MR.  COLE  was  constitutionally  averse  to 
walking;  therefore  the  determination  to 
go  to  McFerren's  made  necessary  the  procur- 
ing of  a  cab;  and,  the  cab  once  well  on  its  way, 
his  last  thoughtful  ride  was  brought  forcibly  to 
mind  and,  by  and  by,  Inspector  Swift's  sugges- 
tion that  he  should  have  been  a  detective. 

He  smiled  in  huge  enjoyment.  "  I  am  not  so 
bad  for  an  amateur,"  reflected  he;  "  the  game  is 
decidedly  more  exciting  than  bridge  or  golf,  so 
why  not?  I  may,  with  propriety,  assert  that 
I  am  at  least  a  dilettante  in  the  exacting  (if  not 
exact)  science  of  criminal  investigation.  Won- 
der what  the  deuce  Edith  would  say? " 

He  grinned,  and  then  his  brow  darkened:  it 
was  not  very  difficult  to  imagine  —  perhaps  not 
precisely  what  Edith  would  say,  but  the  tone  in 
which  she  would  say  it.  It  was  a  tone  that  he 

[220] 


discouraged  because  it  made  him  ill  at  ease ;  men- 
tally, he  referred  to  it  as  his  conscience. 

The  possibility,  therefore,  was  not  to  be  thought 
of,  although  he  had  stuck  to  the  matter  in  hand 
with  more  pertinacity  than  he  had  manifested  in 
many  a  day.  There  was  a  particular  zest  to  be 
found  in  this  man-hunting  game  that  he  had 
never  experienced  before,  and  were  it  not  for 
the  fact  that  in  the  present  instance  a  deep  and 
personal  interest  was  at  stake,  he  felt  sure  the 
stimulation  of  his  faculties,  the  constant  syste- 
matic mental  effort,  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
broadening  and  upbuilding,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
exhilaration  to  be  derived  from  having  to  be  per- 
petually on  his  guard  against  the  unexpected. 
Yes,  indeed,  it  would  be  immense  fun. 

Afternoons  usually  found  McFerren's  place 
one  of  considerable  activity.  At  such  times  Dan 
Fogarty  was  reinforced  by  a  white-aproned 
replica  of  himself,  and  the  twain  frequently  found 
their  time  entirely  occupied  dispensing  liquid 
refreshment  and  repartee,  both  with  cheerful  im- 
partiality, to  the  throng  in  the  bar  and  to  certain 
other  invisible  customers  back  in  the  wine-rooms. 

So  it  was  a  busy  hour  when  Cole  entered.    He 

[221] 


ran  an  eye  over  the  various  groups  —  some  of 
whom  were  very  noisy;  while  others  were  mo- 
rosely still  —  but  it  encountered  no  one  who  even 
remotely  corresponded  to  his  concept  of  Jim 
Savage. 

He  took  a  seat  at  one  of  the  circular  tables 
and  settled  himself  for  a  long  wait,  if  necessary; 
but  after  a  while  the  crowd  thinned  sufficiently 
for  him  to  have  a  few  words  with  Dan. 

The  latter  came  over  to  him  and  began  wiping 
imaginary  spots  of  wetness  from  the  table-top. 

"  Saw  your  party  this  morning,  Mr.  Cole," 
said  he  in  a  confidential  undertone ;  "  too  bad 
you  was  n't  here.  He  did  n't  stay  long,  though ; 
seemed  to  be  kinda  nervous  —  could  n't  sit  still." 

"Well,  I  have  been  unlucky,"  returned  Cole; 
"  but,  with  unabated  ardor,  I  am  still  pursuing 
Savages." 

Before  he  had  uttered  the  last  word  he  was 
struck  by  an  abrupt  alteration  in  Dan's  manner, 
and  at  the  same  time  became  aware  of  somebody 
standing  not  a  great  distance  behind  his  chair  — 
somebody  who  stood  with  the  frozen  rigidity  of 
one  who  has  been  startled  and  suddenly  filled 
with  apprehension.  Dan  had  become  all  at  once 

[222] 


"  Dorothy  took  a  chair  before  the  crystal." 


[Page  110] 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   SCAR 

constrained,  and  after  a  final  perfunctory  dab  or 
two  at  the  table,  he  started  to  move  away.  Simul- 
taneously the  man  behind  moved  forward  to 
where,  by  craning  his  head  around,  he  could  com- 
mand a  view  of  Cole's  features. 

The  young  man  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
the  very  individual  whom  he  had  sought  so 
eagerly. 

If  he  was  taken  unawares,  there  was  nothing 
in  his  manner  to  show  it.  Remembering  his  bad 
pun  on  the  fellow's  name,  he  even  smiled.  Then, 
after  a  calm  survey  of  the  newcomer,  he  re- 
marked pleasantly: 

"  Introduce  me,  Dan,  will  you? "  And  Dan 
announced  —  gruffly,  to  hide  his  embarrassment, 

"  Mr.  Savage  —  Mr.  Cole." 

The  former  recoiled  a  step,  and  his  bewildered 
glance  travelled  rapidly,  suspiciously,  between 
the  bartender  and  the  fastidious  young  society 
man. 

"  The  devil!  "  muttered  he,  presently. 

"  No  —  Cole,"  the  owner  of  the  name  smil- 
ingly corrected.  "  I  think  Mr.  Fogarty  enun- 
ciated it  quite  distinctly." 

Savage   contemplated   the   tall,    clean-limbed 

[223] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

figure  confronting  him  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to 
set  it  down  as  merely  an  animated  fashion-plate, 
or  as  representing  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with. 
There  was  a  suggestion  of  youthful  ingenuous- 
ness in  the  delicate,  impassive  features  of  a  nature 
to  disarm  suspicion.  If  Dan  Fogarty  had  been 
of  a  mind  to  interfere,  he  could  have  called  Mr. 
Savage  aside  and  whispered  a  word  in  his  ear 
that  would  have  caused  that  worthy  to  consider; 
but  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment Savage  grinned,  then  laughed  —  a  manifest 
effort  at  cordiality  —  and  extended  a  hand.  It 
was  not  the  right  one. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you? "  he  said  in  a  rum- 
bling bass. 

Mr.  Cole,  stooping,  scratched  an  imaginary 
speck  of  mud  from  one  of  his  pearl-gray  spatter- 
dashes, and  thus  did  not  see  the  hand  outstretched 
to  him.  As  he  once  more  sat  upright,  however, 
he  managed  to  observe  the  man's  right  hand ;  and, 
sure  enough,  across  the  back  of  it  was  a  white 
cicatrix,  so  deep  that  it  well-nigh  deformed  the 
member. 

At  the  deep-voiced  question  he  rose. 

"  Er-ah  —  suppose    we    retire  —  one    of    the 

[224] 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   SCAR 

private  rooms,  you  know? "  He  waited  with 
brows  expectantly  uplifted,  absently  tapping 
one  gloved  hand  with  the  head  of  his  stick. 

Dan  coughed  suggestively;  but  when  Cole 
shot  a  look  at  him  he  was  busy  scouring  the 
bar-top  with  a  cloth,  technically  known  as  a 
"  sour  rag."  Savage  had  already  started  toward 
the  rear,  and  now,  just  as  the  young  man  turned 
to  follow  him,  Dan  Fogarty  abruptly  aban- 
doned his  task  and  called  after  him, 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Cole,  before  you  get  busy  would 
you  just  mind  writing  down  that  address  for 
me?" 

Savage  stopped  and  scowled  in  an  ugly  man- 
ner, all  his  suspicions  at  once  alert;  but  Cole's 
mien  was  one  of  such  easy,  careless  indifference, 
he  appeared  to  be  so  blind  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  helpless  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  that  the 
first-named's  maleficent  expression  relaxed  into 
another  which  was  scarcely  more  pleasant,  albeit 
he  was  once  more  grinning. 

"  Sport!"  he  contemptuously  muttered  below 
Ms  breath,  as  Cole  reached  the  bar.  "  Easy 
picking." 

Dan  had  laid  a  piece  of  paper  upon  the  bar- 
is  [  225  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

top  and  was  holding  out  a  bit  of  pencil.  Cole 
seized  the  latter,  and  under  a  sudden  inspira- 
tion wrote.  While  he  was  doing  so  he  heard 
Dan  whisper  cautiously: 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Cole,  be  careful!  By 
the  looks  of  him,  that  husky  was  not  misnamed. 
And  remember  —  if  anything  happens  —  I  can 
do  nothing." 

'  Yes  you  can,"  Cole  whispered  back,  without 
looking  up.  "  If  anything  happens,  read  this." 
Then  aloud :  "  There  you  are,  Dan ;  if  you  need 
him  he  will  come  at  once." 

He  had  written  Inspector  Swift's  telephone 
number,  choosing  to  assume  that  the  officer  had 
been  neglectful  respecting  this  rogue  with  the 
scarred  hand.  Cole  had  considerable  to  learn 
regarding  the  Inspector's  promptness. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Dan,  folding  the  paper 
and  tucking  it  into  a  pocket  of  his  white  jacket. 

Cole  returned  to  the  waiting  Savage,  saying 
politely : 

"  Now  then,  if  you  please,  I  would  like  to 
have  a  few  minutes  of  your  time.  What  would 
you  like  in  the  way  of  refreshments?  " 

Savage  stared  insolently  a  moment;   then  — 

[226] 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR 

"Whiskey,"  growled  he.  "Dan  knows.  .  .  .. 
Same  kind,  Dan." 

"  Open  a  fresh  bottle  for  Mr.  Savage,  Dan, 
—  bring  the  bottle  and  a  siphon  of  seltzer." 

Such  reckless  munificence  tended  further  to 
allay  whatever  doubts  may  have  disturbed  Sav- 
age, for  he  grinned  again,  disclosing  through 
his  stubble  of  beard  and  mustache  a  double  row 
of  yellow,  uneven  teeth. 

In  a  moment  they  were  seated  in  one  of  the 
private  rooms,  a  round-topped  table  between 
them.  Savage  lost  no  time  in  pouring  himself 
a  drink  from  the  freshly  broached  bottle. 

"  Here  's  how,"  said  he,  amiably,  in  his  ore 
rotundo. 

'  You  must  pardon  me,  Mr.  Savage,  but  I 
never  drink  before  dinner." 

Savage  scowled  and  set  down  his  glass. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Cole,  carelessly,  pouring 
himself  a  portion  and  diluting  it  without  stint, 
"  just  for  sociability."  He  touched  the  glass  to 
his  lips;  the  other  drained  his  at  a  gulp,  scorn- 
ing the  "  chaser  "  of  iced  seltzer. 

Cole  came  at  once  to  the  point,  but  he  spoke 
so  pleasantly  and  seemed  to  have  so  mild  an 

[227] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

interest  in  the  inquiry,  that  a  second  passed  be- 
fore the  full  significance  of  the  words  pierced 
the  other's  comprehension. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Miss  Day? "  said 
the  young  man,  smiling. 

Savage  stared;   then  his  face  grew  black. 

"  So  that 's  your  game,  is  it? "  he  uttered 
thickly.  '  You  've  been  stalling  me  all  along, 
have  you?  You  're  a  damned  elbow,  is  what 
you  are ! " 

"Elbow?"  with  brows  inquiringly  elevated  — 
"meaning  a  detective?  I  assure  you  I  am  not." 

"  Looky  here,  'bo,"  rumbled  the  hoarse  bass, 
"  I  can  bite  you  in  two,  just  like  that." 

He  deliberately  crushed  the  whiskey-glass 
between  his  teeth  and  spat  the  particles  out 
upon  the  floor.  Cole  seemed  to  be  profoundly 
interested. 

'  You  're  a  deuced  amusing  chap,"  said  he. 
"  Let 's  see  you  bite  the  bottle." 

Savage  snorted  and  crashed  a  fist  —  the  right 
one  this  time  —  down  upon  the  table.  The  scar 
was  livid. 

:<  What  you  after? "  he  angrily  demanded. 
'*  You  think  you  're  pretty  wise,  don't  you? 

[228] 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  SCAR 

You  are  —  I  don't  think!  Young  fellow,  you 
don't  want  to  play  foxy  with  me.  Come  now 
—  out  with  it;  what  you  want?" 

Quite  unmoved,  Cole  leaned  back  and,  care- 
fully arranging  his  trousers  with  the  double  aim 
of  avoiding  wrinkles  and  preserving  the  crease, 
crossed  his  legs.  This  accomplished  to  his 
satisfaction  — 

"  I  will  repeat  my  interrogation,"  said  he, 
calmly.  "  What  have  you  done  with  Miss 
Day?" 

The  other's  mouth  closed  with  a  click. 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  devil  you  mean," 
bluntly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  you  do.  How  do  you  suppose 
I  found  you  so  quickly  if  you  had  not  been 
recognized  when  you  thrust  yourself,  in  the  un- 
gentlemanly  way  you  did,  among  those  ladies 
Tuesday  night?  That  was  the  act  of  a  ruffian, 
Mr.  Savage." 

The  man  leaned  forward  toward  the  imper- 
turbable speaker,  his  ill-favored  countenance  a 
mirror  of  fury. 

"Cut  that  out!"  thickly.  "Who  there  ever 
saw  me  be  —  " 

[2295 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Abruptly  he  checked  the  question.  Instead 
of  completing  it  he  noisily  clapped  an  open 
palm  upon  the  table,  by  way  of  emphasizing  his 
next  words. 

"Don't  you  get  gay  with  me,  young  fellow! 
I  Ve  slipped  a  knife  into  more  than  one  guy 
for  less  than  you  —  " 

"  I  daresay.  But  the  guy  was  n't  looking 
when  you  did  it." 

"What's  that?" 

"  And  in  Williamsburg  they  think  twice  be- 
fore slipping  knives  into  guys  —  not  that  I  am 
afraid  of  you,  Mr.  Jim  Savage;  this  bad  man 
from  Bitter  Creek  role  fits  you  like  a  glove,  but 
it  is  only  mildly  amusing.  It  soon  becomes 
tiresome,  however.  Suppose,  now,  you  keep  cool 
until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  Don't  be 


an  ass." 


Blind  fury  now  gave  way  to  open-mouthed 
astonishment.  Cole  proceeded,  the  while  Savage 
sat  and  glowered  at  him,  apparently  speechless. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of  the  fact,  but 
Mr.  Knowles  Swift,  chief  of  our  efficient  detec- 
tive department,  is  particularly  desirous  of  lay- 
ing you  by  the  heels.  I  happened  to  get  in 

[230] 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   SCAR 

ahead  of  him,  and,  having  done  so,  propose  to 
give  you  an  opportunity  to  square  yourself  — 
if  you  can.  Look  at  your  gratitude.  .  .  .  No, 
don't  interrupt;  it  is  not  polite,  and  besides,  I 
am  not  through.  If  you  do  not  hear  me  out, 
you  will  manage  to  wriggle  into  a  far  deeper 
hole  than  you  are  at  present. 

'  Why  did  you  want  Miss  Day  out  of  the 
way?  What  magic  did  you  exercise  to  accom- 
plish your  end?  What  potency  lay  in  that 
golden  charm  you  employed? 

"My  word,  Mr.  Savage!  if  you  knew  how 
curious  I  am  to  have  these  questions  answered 
you  would  not  hesitate  a  second  to  relieve  my 
impatience." 

Savage  did,  though;  in  fact,  he  did  not  speak 
at  all.  In  a  moment  Cole  asked  casually, 

"  By  the  way,  Savage,  do  you  happen  to 
know  what  the  penalty  is  for  desertion  from  the 
army  in  time  of  war? " 

"  What  do  you  mean? "  muttered  Savage, 
darkly.  The  look  that  transfixed  Cole  had  be- 
come evil  unalloyed.  He  snatched  up  the  glass 
containing  the  seltzer  and  dashed  its  contents 
viciously  to  the  floor;  then  the  scarred  hand 

[2311 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

reached  aimlessly  for  the  bottle,  and,  having 
found  it,  unsteadily  poured  the  glass  brimming 
full.  "  What  do  you  mean?  " 

Foster  Cole  smiled,  rocking  easily  to  and  fro 
on  the  rear  legs  of  his  chair;  but  had  Savage 
known  him  better  he  would  have  recognized  in 
the  cool  figure  the  alert  vigilance  of  a  hawk. 

"  Oh,  I  simply  wished  to  inquire.  I  have  no 
intention  of  pursuing  the  subject  further  — 
providing  you  are  willing  to  be  frank  concern- 
ing Miss  Day.  If  not,  why,  we  shall  take  up 
the  matter  of  army  desertions." 

Savage  sat  twirling  the  bottle  and  sliding  it 
back  and  forth  on  the  table.  The  look  of  the 
man  was  deadly. 

"  Damn  you !  "  he  sputtered,  panting  —  al- 
most inarticulate,  "  I  '11  tell  you  nothing.  You 
know  too  much  already!" 

Instantly  Cole  brought  his  chair  forward  with 
a  bang.  His  own  eyes  narrowed;  a  dangerous 
light  gleamed  from  between  the  contracted  lids, 
and  his  air  of  easy  indifference  vanished.  He 
was  no  more  the  insouciant,  rather  vapid  young 
beau. 

"  Yes,  I  do."    The  words  came  forth  with  the 

[232] 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   SCAR 

crisp  incisiveness  of  a  cracking  whip.  "  I  did 
not  place  you  at  first,  Jim  Kelsey;  but  I  know 
you  now.  You  did  not  have  that  scar  when  you 
were  in  Cuba  —  you  never  acquired  it  in  any 
worthy  battle,  or  the  War  Department  would 
add  it  to  your  description.  Savage,  eh?  Humph! 
an  apt  —  er  —  nom  de  plume,  for  I  doubt  not 
that  it  is  on  the  record  of  more  than  one  '  pen.' 

'  You  and  Cantarini  were  a  sorry  pair  of 
dogs,  and  I  must  say  that  when  he  was  drowned, 
and  you  deserted  from  our  company,  we  did  not 
mourn  him,  nor  were  we  over-anxious  to  have 
you  back.  You  had  not  forgotten  Lieutenant 
Cole,  though,  you  —  " 

He  dodged  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  the 
heavy  quart  bottle  splintered  against  the  par- 
tition. Next  instant  table  and  chairs  went  over 
with  a  crash,  and,  with  fingers  closing  gradu- 
ally tighter  upon  the  younger  man's  throat,  the 
pair  threshed  furiously  about,  Savage  snarling 
like  an  infuriated  animal. 

Out  in  the  bar  Dan  Fogarty  was  swearing 
into  the  telephone  because  Central  was  so  slow 
about  replying. 

[233] 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A  KNIGHT  OF   THE   GOLDEN    CIRCLE 

A 5  the  combatants  lurched  to  and  fro  there  was 
this  difference  in  their  purpose :  Savage  — 
or  Kelsey,  to  give  him  his  proper  name — was  an- 
imated solely  by  a  meaningless  fury,  the -deadly 
fury  that  is  inspired  by  panic  terror ;  while  Cole's 
every  movement  was  a  part  of  a  carefully  cal- 
culated design.  The  grip  on  his  throat  was 
temporarily  shutting  off  his  wind,  but  he  had 
not  been  taken  entirely  unprepared;  he  had  not 
missed  the  least  of  Kelsey's  movements,  and 
while  rocking  so  carelessly  on  his  chair-legs,  had 
weighed  every  chance  for  and  against  himself. 
He  had  anticipated  the  savage  spring,  and,  fur- 
thermore, that  every  ounce  of  the  fellow's 
strength  would  be  behind  it. 

Within  ten  seconds  the  high-pressure  began 
to  tell.  Kelsey  was  panting,  distressed;  his 
eyes  were  red,  and  all  at  once  —  he  never  knew 
how  it  happened  —  Cole  was  no  longer  in  front 

[234] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

of  him,  helpless  in  his  cruel  grip.  With  a  lithe 
movement  the  young  man  suddenly  freed  him- 
self; the  same  movement  placed  him  beside  his 
antagonist,  and  then  Kelsey  was  given  a  demon- 
stration, one  that  he  would  not  forget  for  many 
a  day,  of  the  deceitful  muscular  development  of 
a  Harvard  ex-stroke-oar. 

A  stinging  right-hander  behind  one  ear  sent 
him  crashing  face  forward  against  the  partition, 
and  as  he  recovered  himself,  more  than  half- 
dazed,  Cole's  left  hand  shot  straight  from  the 
shoulder  to  the  point  of  Kelsey's  chin.  That 
settled  it.  It  was  all  accomplished  so  quickly  that 
a  spectator,  had  one  been  present,  could  scarcely 
have  followed  the  action,  and  he  certainly  would 
have  been  much  surprised  at  the  result.  Both 
blows  were  clean  and  lightning-like,  and  Kelsey 
collapsed  like  an  empty  sack,  falling  in  a  hud- 
dled heap  in  one  corner.  When  he  recovered 
some  minutes  later  he  was  as  tractable  as  a 
whipped  spaniel. 

Meanwhile,  the  disturbance  had  not  passed 
unnoticed  by  the  habitues  of  the  bar.  At  the 
first  crash  of  table  and  chairs  they  paused  only 
long  enough  to  locate  the  tumult's  source,  and 

[235] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

then  began  to  press  rearward.  The  sounds  pro- 
claimed that  a  spirited  fight  was  in  progress 
near  at  hand,  and  if  there  was  one  thing  more 
than  another  in  which  the  frequenters  of  McFer- 
ren's  revelled,  it  was  a  fight,  whether  spirited 
or  not.  The  present  one,  however,  gave  indis- 
putable tokens  that  it  was  exceedingly  spirited. 

But  their  course  was  stayed.  A  circumstance 
so  unusual  as  to  excite  wonder  —  even  to  the 
extent  of  dividing  the  crowd's  attention  with 
the  combat;  two  blue-coats  were  barring  the 
passage,  while  a  quiet,  unassuming,  gray-haired 
man,  whose  face  was  smooth-shaven  and  like 
tooled  leather,  was  slipping  hurriedly  along  from 
room  to  room  until  he  determined  which  one 
was  the  scene  of  the  lively  fray.  Then  he 
opened  the  door  and  peered  in,  and  quietly 
closed  it  again. 

When  he  turned  away  a  little  smile  wrinkled 
the  corners  of  his  eyes;  and  it  remained  in  evi- 
dence until  after  he  had  returned  to  the  two 
policemen,  to  each  of  whom  he  whispered  a  few 
words.  Next  he  went  over  to  one  of  the  tables 
and  seated  himself,  seemingly  indifferent  to  the 
excitement  which  quickened  the  interest  of  the 

[236] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN   CIRCLE 

pushing,  elbowing  crowd.  Speculation  was  loud 
and  clamorous ;  but  the  quiet  man  simply  sat  — 
and  watched. 

When  he  opened  the  door  Kelsey  was  lying 
senseless  on  the  floor,  while  Cole  was  leaning 
carelessly  against  the  wall,  his  arms  folded,  and 
surveying  his  supine  adversary  with  a  bored  look. 
The  rattle  of  the  latch  caught  the  young  man's 
attention.  He  looked  up,  recognized  Mr.  Flint 
with  a  reassuring  nod,  and  the  door  closed  once 
more.  Now  that  he  was  the  victor,  he  knew  that 
he  was  not  to  be  interfered  with. 

He  made  some  effort  to  smooth  his  rumpled 
collar  —  the  only  evidence  of  the  conflict  to  be 
remarked  in  his  appearance  —  and  nodded  cheer- 
fully at  the  door. 

"  Thanks,  Mr.  Inspector,"  said  he,  "  for  your 
kind  solicitude ;  but  I  have  n't  required  it  yet." 

After  a  while  certain  twitchings  and  sounds 
on  the  part  of  the  prostrate  Kelsey  proclaimed 
returning  consciousness.  Cole's  features  instantly 
hardened,  and,  stooping,  he  caught  the  man's 
collar  and  aided  the  process  with  a  by  no  means 
gentle  shake. 

Kelsey  groaned  and  tried  to  sit  upright.    Cole 

[237] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

jerked  him  to  a  sitting  posture  and  propped  him 
against  the  partition. 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  calmly,  "  I  have 
counted  you  out  four  times;  I  suspect  that  left 
jab  will  detain  you  for  a  period  —  eh?  If  not, 
get  up  and  we  shall  start  the  next  round."  Then 
he  jeered:  "Time!" 

But  there  was  no  more  fight  in  Mr.  Kelsey  — 
a  fact  which  he  made  known,  indubitably,  by  a 
wild  glance  toward  the  door,  and  an  involuntary 
movement  in  the  same  general  direction.  Cole 
promptly  placed  his  back  against  it. 

"  Suppose  you  tidy  up  the  room  a  bit,"  sug- 
gested he,  grimly;  "it  looks  and  smells  like  a 
pigsty."  Then,  as  Kelsey  hesitated,  his  eyes 
suddenly  narrowed,  his  thin  lips  tightened. 
"Move!" 

Kelsey  obeyed. 

"  Set  the  table  and  chairs  upright  again,  you 
dog." 

All  hesitation  was  now  gone  from  the  fellow's 
actions;  indeed,  save  for  a  slight  shakiness  of 
the  legs,  he  bestirred  himself  with  a  certain 
alacrity. 

"  Now  sit  down,"  went  on  Cole,  as  he  resumed 

[238] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE   GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

his  own  chair.  '  What  have  you  done  with  Miss 
Day?  This  is  the  third  time  I  have  put  the  same 
question,  and  the  last ;  so  get  your  wits  together 
and  answer  up  promptly." 

There  was  a  hard  look  about  Cole's  eyes  and 
a  crisp  curtness  of  intonation  that  seemed  to  in- 
spire his  hearer  with  terror.  The  man's  jaw  was 
dropped  and  he  stared  with  a  sort  of  awe  at  the 
menacing  figure  confronting  him  across  the  table. 
He  exerted  an  effort,  however,  to  do  as  he  was 
bidden. 

"  Gimme  a  drink,"  gasped  he,  hoarsely.  The 
rumbling  bass  was  ludicrously  tremulous  and  un- 
certain. "  I  '11  talk  —  so  help  me!  —  if  you  '11 
only  gimme  a  drink.  What  did  you  hit  me  with? 
Gawd!  it  nearly  put  me  out  for  keeps." 

The  inquiry  was  ignored.  Cole  did  not  re- 
move his  stern  regard  from  the  other's  features. 
As  the  end  sought  was  to  make  the  fellow  tell 
whatever  he  had  to  tell,  if  a  drink  would  aid 
him  any,  he  was  perfectly  willing  that  he  should 
have  it.  So  he  curtly  directed  him  to  press  the 
indicator  button. 

Except  for  Kelsey's  groans  and  uneasy  stir- 
rings, there  was  silence  while  the  order  was  being 

[239] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

filled.  A  measure  of  liquor,  however,  inspirited 
him  wonderfully.  He  set  down  the  empty  glass 
with  a  steadier  hand. 

"  S'  help  me  Gawd,  Lieutenant,  I  don't  know 
where  the  lady  is." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  her?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Come  now,  Kelsey,  do  not  lie.  I  am  not  to 
be  trifled  with  another  moment." 

"  Lieutenant  —  s'  help  me !  —  I  —  I  —  I  'm 
telling  the  truth.  I  never  set  eyes  on  the  lady 
after  I  give  her  the  bracelet  —  strike  me  dead 
if  I  did !  I  did  n't  even  know  she  was  gone  till 
I  heard  'em  talking  in  here  about  it  next  morn- 
ing, and  I  looked  it  up  in  the  papers  and  seen 
I  was  suspected  of  having  made  way  w'ith 
her.  That 's  the  truth,  if  ever  I  told  it  in  my 
life." 

Cole  studied  the  repulsive  features,  and  con- 
sidered. Truth  and  Kelsey,  doubtless,  were 
scarcely  on  speaking  terms ;  but  the  more  he  con- 
versed with  the  man  it  became  increasingly  cer- 
tain that  he  and  Dorothy  could  never  have  had 
anything  in  common.  And  there  was  an  intensity 
of  earnestness  in  the  fellow's  tone  that  was  un- 

[2401 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE   GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

mistakably  convincing.  But  had  he  not  intruded 
upon  the  company  in  the  vestry-room  at  a  time 
when  the  most  daring  of  outsiders  would  have 
hesitated  to  do  the  same  thing?  Assuredly  he 
had.  What,  then,  was  Cole  to  think? 

"  Why  did  you  give  her  the  bracelet?  "  he  pres- 
ently asked. 

Kelsey  started  to  shake  his  head,  but  stopped 
with  comical  abruptness  and  fell  to  feeling  his 
jaw  gingerly  with  one  hand. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  stammered  he.  " Lord, 
man!  that  was  a  swinger  you  handed  me."  And 
he  added  wistfully:  "Wish  I  knew  what  you 
hit  me  with." 

"  Look  here,  Kelsey,"  said  Cole,  scowling, 
"  you  pay  attention  to  the  matter  in  hand.  I 
have  had  enough  '  don't  knows ' ;  I  want  what 
you  do  know  —  and  be  pretty  quick  about  it, 
too.  Are  you  aware  that  an  officer  is  waiting  in 
the  bar  for  word  from  me?  Now,  about  one 
more  minute  of  this  trifling,  and  I  shall  hand  you 
over  to  him.  Make  your  choice." 

"  Lieutenant  —  I  swear !  —  I  make  solemn 
oath !  —  I  'm  doing  my  best ;  though  if  it  was 
known  I  was  squealing,  I  'd  be  murdered  for  it 

16  [241.1 


as  sure  as  you  're  a-setting  right  there  in  that 
chair." 

"  But  you  talk  like  a  crazy  man,"  insisted  Cole, 
rapidly  losing  patience. 

"  Gimme  time  to  get  my  wind.  I  done  just 
what  I  was  told  to  do  —  no  more,  no  less." 

"  Ah  "  —  light  suddenly  broke  —  "  and  who 
told  you  to  do  it?" 

"  The  Master." 

"Who  is  the  Master?" 

"  Dunno." 

The  inquisitor  leaned  forward  upon  the  table, 
his  absorbing  interest  indicated  solely  by  a  glint 
in  the  narrowed  eyes  and  a  tenseness  about  the 
sensitive  lips  and  nostrils. 

"  How,  then,  did  he  tell  you  to  do  it? " 
asked  he. 

"Why,  the  sign  —  it  would  always  let  me 
know  when  I  would  be  wanted ;  I  'd  wait  here  till 
word  came,  and  then  I  'd  do  what  I  was  told. 
Sometimes  one  and  sometimes  another  would 
bring  me  the  message  or  the  money  —  nobody  I 
ever  knew,  though.  I  had  no  kick." 

Cole's  lip  curled  in  disgust.  So,  then,  the  In- 
spector had  been  right:  the  fellow  was  a  mere 

[242] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE   GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

hireling  dog.  Apparently,  however,  the  young 
man  was  on  the  right  track;  the  catechism  was 
becoming  absorbing,  and  the  catechist's  eagerness 
mounted  by  leaps  and  bounds.  He  produced  the 
yellow  crayon.  Quickly  he  drew  a  circle  upon 
the  table,  a  capital  "  M  "  inside  it. 


"  Is  that  the  sign? "  he  asked. 

But  the  question  was  not  needed.  Such  of 
Kelsey's  features  as  were  visible  through  the 
stubble  of  beard  became  suddenly  ashy,  and  he 
stared  at  Cole  like  one  fascinated.  Presently  he 
half  rose  and  pushed  his  chair  back. 

'  You ! "  the  word  rattled  in  his  throat  — 
"  you! " 

Cole  merely  sat  motionless  and  waited.  For 
one  fleeting  instant  the  idea  of  posing  as  "  the 
Master  "  —  whoever  that  mysterious  individual 
might  be  —  possessed  him,  but  at  once  he  dis- 
missed it  as  being  wholly  impracticable. 

As  "  the  Master  "  he  would  be  supposed  al- 

[243] 


ready  to  know  everything  concerning  Kelsey's 
movements  on  the  eventful  Tuesday  night;  be- 
sides, there  were  without  doubt  certain  signs  by 
which  members  of  the  villanous  fraternity  made 
themselves  known  to  one  another.  And,  more- 
over, unless  Kelsey  were  bound  by  an  oath  more 
potent  than  his  present  fear-inspired  willingness 
to  yield  up  whatever  he  knew,  there  was  no  neces- 
sity for  assuming  any  role  at  all.  Cole  was  grati- 
fied by  the  unmistakable  indications  that  the  shot 
had  told;  in  all  likelihood,  the  effect  produced 
by  the  symbol  was  sufficient  to  serve  his  ends; 
so  he  would  let  the  fellow  remain  in  igno- 
rance as  to  how  much  he  might  or  might  not 
know. 

"  Sit  down,  Kelsey,"  said  he,  quietly,  after  the 
pause.  "  I  make  no  pretensions  to  being  your 
infamous  'Master';  but  you  see,  I  am  conversant 
not  only  with  his  sign  manual,  but  of  at  least  one 
occasion  when  it  was  used  to  direct  you  to  the 
perpetration  of  a  criminal  act.  An  attempt  to 
hide  anything  from  me  will  not  pay." 

Kelsey  slowly  sank  back  into  his  chair,  com- 
pletely cowed  and  apparently  stupefied  with 
wonder. 

[844] 


"  That  —  that 's  the  sign,  all  right,"  muttered 
he.  "  Where  did  you  get  it?  " 

"  Never  mind.    Where  did  you  get  it?  " 

"  From  Alec  Cantarini  —  in  Cuba  —  before 
he  was  drownded." 

"  Cantarini!  "  marvelled  the  young  man. 

And  then  his  memory  flew  back  to  the  days 
when  he  was  first  lieutenant  in  a  company  of  vol- 
unteers that  had  seen  some  pretty  rough  service 
in  Cuba.  And  it  was  a  rough  lot  of  material 
that  had  gone  to  the  making  of  that  company, 
too.  Kelsey  had  been  of  it,  while  Cantarini  had 
carried  a  Krag  in  the  same  regiment  but  in  a 
different  company. 

Cantarini ! 

Heavens,  how  he  had  hated  the  man!  He  had 
been  the  bete  noir  of  every  one  of  the  regiment's 
officers. 

There  had  always  been  something  strange, 
even  mysterious,  about  Alessandro  Cantarini. 
Without  ever  committing  himself  to  any  overt 
act,  or  laying  himself  open  to  a  charge  of  foment- 
ing trouble  among  the  men,  still  it  was  an  indis- 
putable fact  that  he  had  possessed  some  secret, 
well-nigh  uncanny,  power  of  stirring  up  discon- 

[245] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

tent  and  dissatisfaction  in  the  regiment,  which 
at  times  amounted  almost  to  rank  insubordina- 
tion. There  was  no  denying  that  the  fellow's 
potent  magnetism  had  been  a  force  to  sway  his 
comrades  and  bend  them  to  his  will. 

Had  his  influence  been  for  good,  he  would  have 
proved  an  invaluable  ally;  but  as  his  only  im- 
pulses seemed  to  have  been  evil,  he  remained  a 
constant  source  of  trouble  and  vexation  to  his 
officers  who,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  had  good 
reasons  for  believing  him  even  dangerous  to  the 
army's  well-being. 

When  it  was  reported,  therefore,  that  Can- 
tarini  had  been  drowned,  the  news  was  received 
with  feelings  of  relief,  none  the  less  sincere  be- 
cause they  were  not  expressed.  True,  the  body 
had  not  been  found;  but  there  had  been  no  time 
then  to  search  for  the  bodies  of  privates  who  were 
foolish  enough  to  get  themselves  drowned.  The 
man's  name  and  appearance  had  been  Italian 
—  to  the  best  of  Cole's  recollection,  at  any 
rate,  he  had  been  of  the  Latin  type  —  but  he 
had  always  claimed  to  be  an  American-born 
citizen. 

"  So  Cantarini  showed  you  the  symbol  and 

[246] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

how  to  use  it,  did  he? "  said  Cole  after  a  while. 
"  How  much  more  did  you  learn  from  him? " 

"  Well,  it  was  n't  me  alone  that  he  initiated 
into  the  Golden  Circle;  a  dozen  or  more  of  the 
men  of  our  regiment  joined  and  were  given  the 
grips  and  passwords,  and  told  how  to  get  word 
to  *  the  Master/  They  had  to  pay  for  it,  too. 
Cantarini  told  us  we  were  '  Knights  of  the  Circle/ 
and  he  soldered  a  little  brass  band  on  the  arm  of 
each,  which  we  were  not  to  take  off  unless  we 
wanted  to  be  killed.  The  band  had  each  man's 
number  engraved  on  it." 

"  Your  number  is  C-32,  is  it  not? " 

"  Yes." 

"And  what  was  Arthur  Higdon's  number?" 

"  Higdon?    I  don't  know  him." 

;<  Well,  that  can  rest  for  the  present.  All  the 
bands  were  not  brass,  were  they? " 

"  No.  By  paying  twenty  dollars  more,  you 
had  a  solid  gold  band  give  you.  Some  of  the  men 
paid  the  money,  and  were  to  get  the  gold  bands 
when  the  army  returned  home.  Oh,  Cantarini 
had  'em  going,  all  right.  After  we  were  all  hard 
and  fast  sworn,  he  told  each  of  us  different  places 
in  New  York,  Chicago,  'Frisco  —  a  lot  of  towns 

[247] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

where,  if  we  were  in  trouble  or  wanted  to  let  the 
Master  know  that  he  could  reach  us,  all  we  had 
to  do  was  to  draw  a  yellow  circle  with  our  number 
in  it.  It  always  worked,  though  I  somehow  never 
got  to  see  any  of  the  other  knights." 

The  principle  of  the  system  began  to  show 
clearly  to  Cole,  and  he  could  not  but  admire  the 
cleverness  with  which  the  arch-criminal  made 
use  of  his  dupes,  keeping  himself  well  concealed 
in  the  background  meanwhile,  and  the  different 
members  unknown  to  one  another.  Beyond  per- 
adventure  the  common  rascals  were  well  paid  for 
their  services,  too. 

In  a  moment  he  went  on  with  his  inquisition. 

;<  Tuesday  night,  then,  you  were  simply  acting 
on  instructions  from  the  Master:  is  that  correct?  " 

"  Yes.  I  '11  tell  you  about  it.  Five  weeks  ago 
I  was  in  Chicago.  I  was  broke,  and  had  left  my 
sign  on  a  dock-stringer  just  west  of  Clark  Street 
—  on  the  river,  you  know  —  and  the  very  next 
day  word  came  to  my  shack  for  me  to  blow  to 
Williamsburg.  I  had  already  learned  never  to 
wait  long  when  I  got  the  high  sign  with  that 
circle  and  letter '  M  '  tacked  to  it ;  so  I  beat  it  here 
on  a  freight,  and  reported  as  I  was  told. 

[248] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

"  Well,  the  same  day  I  was  handed  a  piece  of 
money  that  looked  good  to  me,  and  then  the  guy 
what  gives  me  the  money  takes  me  out  to  a  swell 
neighborhood.  We  hangs  around  a  big  house 
for  a  good  bit,  and  pretty  soon  the  lady  what  I 
handed  the  band  to  comes  out.  The  guy  tells 
me  to  watch  her,  to  see  if  she  leaves  town,  which 
I  does  till  last  Monday.  Then  the  same  guy 
comes  to  me,  takes  me  to  St.  Stephen's  church, 
tells  me  how  to  get  in  and  a  whole  lot  more. 
When  we  gets  back  here  he  tells  me  about  a  swell 
wedding  —  the  lady  and  some  millionaire  stiff  — 
the  next  night.  That  was  last  Monday  when  he 
tells  me  this. 

"  I  'm  to  get  inside  the  church  and  watch  the 
rehearsal  —  that 's  where  I  seen  you,  though 
there  was  n't  much  light  —  and  then  on  Tuesday 
night  I  'm  to  wait  at  the  corner  of  the  church  till 
eight  sharp.  Right  on  the  dot  —  if  I  don't  hear 
different  before  —  I  'm  to  walk  fast  down  to  the 
side  door,  into  the  little  room  where  the  lady  was 
and  give  her  the  gold  band,  which  this  guy  hands 
me.  Then  I  'm  to  whisper  something  in  her  ear 
and  make  my  get-away  as  quick  as  I  can." 

"What  was  it  you  whispered?" 

[249] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  I  had  it  wrote  on  the  back  of  a  card,  but  I 
lost  it  somewheres." 

"Card!"  said  Cole,  sharply  —  "what  sort 
of  card? " 

"  Why,  just  a  plain  card  —  some  kind  of 
fortune-teller's;  I  disremember  his  name." 

"  Ah !  "  breathed  Mr.  Cole,  with  satisfaction. 
"  And  you  lost  it  —  somewhere  about  the  church, 
perhaps? " 

"Dunno." 

For  another  pause  Cole  surveyed  the  evil  fea- 
tures ;  then,  — 

"  Have  you  forgotten  what  was  written  on  it? 
—  what  were  you  to  whisper  to  Miss  Day? " 

:<  Well,  it  was  something  like  this :  '  The  in- 
stant Lecomte  Gibbs  '  —  that 's  the  guy  the  lady 
was  to  marry,  ain't  it?  —  'the  instant  Lecomte 
Gibbs  steps  through  the  study  door  he  's  a  dead 
man.  Remember,  Death  never  misses  the  Circle's 
victims ! ' 

"  I  suspect  not,  poor  devils !  "  muttered  Cole, 
with  a  look  that  made  Kelsey  involuntarily 
recoil. 

"  What  did  you  do  then? "  he  next  asked. 

"Why,"  said  Kelsey,  "I  beat  it  — I  comes 

[250] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

here  to  wait,  as  I  was  told  to  do,  for  another  piece 
of  money." 

"  Kelsey,"  said  Cole,  contemplating  him  from 
beneath  gathered  brows,  "  if  that 's  true,  why 
were  you  back  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  church 
just  before  daybreak?  " 

The  question  obviously  astonished  Kelsey. 

'Was  you  the  guy  in  the  alley?"  asked  he, 
and  when  Cole  vouchsafed  no  reply  he  went  on : 

'  When  I  quits  the  church,  I  comes  straight 
here.  You  see,  we  counted  on  the  disturbance, 
which  my  coming  in  in  the  way  I  did  stirred  up, 
making  the  whole  bunch  not  think  to  follow  me 
till  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  fade.  Nobody  fol- 
lowed me,  and  when  I  made  sure  of  that,  I  heads 
straight  for  here. 

"By  and  by  the  guy  comes  —  about  one 
o'clock,  I  reckon  it  was  —  and  hands  me  my 
money.  Then  he  tells  me  to  get  back  to  the 
church  and  hunt  for  the  bouquet  and  gold  band. 
He  says  it 's  somewhere  in  the  yard  or  alley,  and 
when  I  finds  it  I  'm  to  bring  it  to  him  here, 
which  I  does. 

"  He  told  me,  though,  there  would  n't  be  no- 
body at  the  church  —  that  everybody  's  gone  — 

[251] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

but  a  fellow  was  in  the  alley  with  a  glim,  nosing 
around  for  something.  He  comes  pretty  near 
copping  the  bouquet  with  the  band  inside  it,  and 
I  has  to  rap  him  easy  with  my  blackjack  to  make 
him  forget  it." 

"  Easy!  "  exclaimed  Cole. 

"  Sure.  I  did  n't  want  to  croak  him ;  he  was 
just  some  mutt  that  did  n't  know  no  better  than 
to  be  buttin'  in  where  he  had  n't  no  business." 

"Well,"  said  Cole,  dryly,  "I  helped  square 
that  individual's  account  with  you,  at  any  rate. 
By  the  way,  Kelsey,  what  is  the  meaning  of  that 
second  letter  '  c '  in  your  circle?  " 

"  That  means  I  wanted  to  get  a  message  to  the 
Master." 

"'Communicate'?  —  I  see.  And  you  never 
experienced  any  trouble  doing  it?  " 

"  No." 

And  that  was  the  sum  total  of  Kelsey's  knowl- 
edge  concerning   Miss  Day's   disappearance - 
not  a  hint  as  to  motive,  or  that  would  throw  the 
least  light  upon  the  conspirators. 

Still,  considering  all  the  disadvantages  under 
which  he  had  worked,  Cole  believed  he  had  ample 
reason  for  feeling  gratified  at  the  progress  made. 

[252] 


A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  GOLDEN  CIRCLE 

When  he  rose  to  depart  the  fellow  became 
almost  tearful,  beseeching  his  protection. 

"  I  Ve  peached,"  breathed  he,  heavily,  "  and 
they  '11  fix  me.  It 's  all  up  with  me,  when  the 
Master  knows  it.  For  Gawd's  sake!  don't  let 
'em  get  at  me.  I  'd  rather  be  pinched  and  have 
it  over  with." 

"  You  shall  be  *  pinched,'  all  right,  Sir  Knight 
of  the  Golden  Circle ;  but  as  to  protecting  you  — 
h'm-m-m." 

Cole  fell  to  pondering  a  suggestion  prompted 
by  the  other's  appeal.  For  Kelsey  he  entertained 
not  the  slightest  pity  or  sympathy;  blackest  of 
all,  in  his  estimation,  the  fellow  was  a  deserter, 
and  on  top  of  that,  he  had  even  betrayed  his 
fellow-rogues. 

But  he  represented  a  link  —  and  a  highly  im- 
portant one,  too  —  in  the  chain  that  would  lead 
to  the  arch-conspirators  of  the  plot,  who  were 
also,  very  likely,  responsible  for  poor  Higdon's 
death. 

Now,  if  he  could  lay  hands  upon  Kelsey's 
"  guy  "  —  the  go-between  —  another  link,  and 
one  still  more  important  than  Kelsey,  would  be 
in  his  possession.  After  joining  Flint  in  the  bar, 

[253] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

he  tersely  recounted  everything  he  had  learned 
from  the  ruffian,  to  which  the  detective  listened 
with  the  closest  attention.  The  two  then  ar- 
ranged the  details  of  a  scheme  whereby  Kelsey 
was  to  be  used  to  bring  the  intermediary  within 
Flint's  reach. 

"  You  will  take  care  of  Kelsey? "  said  Cole, 
rising  to  go. 

The  only  response  was  a  smile,  but  it  was 
sufficiently  significant.  Flint  produced  a 
memorandum-book,  which  he  opened  upon  the 
table,  and  a  pencil. 

"  Spell  Cantarini's  name,"  he  requested  — 
"Alessandro  Cantarini,  didn't  you  say?" 

Cole  did  so.  "  But  he  's  dead,  you  know,"  he 
supplemented. 

Once  more  Flint  smiled,  as  he  methodically  in- 
scribed the  name  in  his  book.  Then  he  returned 
book  and  pencil  to  their  respective  pockets. 

"  Mr.  Cole,"  said  he,  quite  irrelevantly,  "  did 
you  ever  read  '  The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo  '  ?  If 
not,  do  so ;  allow  me  to  recommend  it  as  a  highly 
amusing  and  instructive  tale." 


[254] 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

TRAPPED 

FOSTER  COLE'S  conversation  with  Le- 
comte  Gibbs,  after  leaving  McFerren's, 
was,  as  may  be  imagined,  a  very  long  one ;  what 
the  younger  man  could  not  on  the  instant  recall 
his  friend  was  not  long  in  reminding  him  of,  for 
Gibbs  was  fertile  in  detail-eliciting  interrogations 
touching  upon  a  subject  fraught  with  such  poig- 
nant interest  for  himself.  Therefore  the  most  of 
their  talk  may  simply  be  passed  over. 

"  I  feel  as  if  my  hands  were  tied,"  said  the 
magnate  shortly  before  Cole  took  his  leave ;  "  I 
have  had  no  experience  that  might  guide  me  in 
a  case  of  this  kind;  but  I  have  not  been  alto- 
gether idle.  Money  usually  accomplishes  won- 
ders," concluded  he;  "we  shall  see  what  it  can 
do  for  us  in  the  present  instance." 

His  features  and  bearing  were  beginning  to 
betray  the  great  burden  of  his  anxiety;  he  had 
the  appearance  of  a  man  very  tired,  mentally 

[255] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

as  well  as  physically;  and  his  young  friend  bent 
upon  him  many  a  curious  sidewise  glance.  Cole 
manifested  a  sudden  interest  at  this  allusion  to 
the  power  of  money.  Money  is  usually  the  mo- 
tive at  the  bottom  of  all  criminal  acts. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  inquired  he,  quickly. 

'  Why,  the  idea  was  suggested  by  my  trip  to 
Philadelphia.  A  young  lady  who  answers  in  a 
general  way  to  Dorothy's  description  was  in- 
jured there  yesterday  morning  in  a  street-car 
accident.  She  was  removed  unconscious  to  one 
of  the  hospitals,  and  there  was  nothing  on  her 
person  by  which  she  might  be  identified.  It  was 
not  Dorothy,  however,"  he  listlessly  ended. 

He  was  once  more  pacing  to  and  fro  in  his 
luxurious  den,  while  Cole  sat  as  before,  from 
time  to  time  thoughtfully  regarding  the  Orien- 
tal bronze  lamp  with  the  ruby-like  ornaments. 

'  You  were  sent  for? "  the  young  man  now 
said. 

Gibbs  nodded,  supplementing,  — "  Hired  a 
special  train  as  soon  as  I  got  the  word. 

"  But  on  the  way,"  he  went  on,  "  the  idea 
occurred  to  me  to  have  several  thousand  copies 
of  Dorothy's  photograph  struck  off,  both  pro- 

[256] 


TRAPPED 

file  and  full  face;  which  I  did,  mounting  them 
upon  one  card  and  appending  to  each  a  minute 
description  and  the  offer  of  a  substantial  reward 
for  any  definite  information  concerning  her. 
They  are  being  sent  broadcast." 

'Well!"  was  Cole's  comment.  "You  were 
certainly  thorough.  Lecomte,  what  is  a  '  sub- 
stantial reward '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  thought  ten  thousand  would  perhaps 
be  sufficiently  inviting  to  produce  results.  If 
not,  I  shall  double  my  offer." 

Cole  hid  a  smile. 

"  My  word,  Lecomte !  I  am  almost  persuaded 
to  wait  until  you  double  it.  But  results  will  be 
produced,  all  right  —  as  long  as  that  offer  stands 
—  though  probably  not  just  what  you  might 
expect.  Do  you  think  I  have  accomplished 
nothing?" 

The  older  man  paused  in  his  promenade  long 
enough  to  place  an  affectionate  hand  upon  the 
speaker's  shoulder. 

"  Indeed  you  have,  Foster,"  said  he,  gravely. 
"  But  "  —  he  resumed  his  restless  pacing  — '-  "  to 
what  does  it  all  lead?  Your  yellow  circles  and 
gilt  bands  and  fisticuffs  with  bar-room  loafers 

17  [257] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

are  quite  confusing  to  me.  Am  I  to  believe  that 
I  am  the  object  of  seething  plot  and  intrigue? 
And  if  so,  who  are  the  plotters?  It  is  all  ut- 
terly incomprehensible." 

"  Lecomte,"  said  Cole,  very  quietly,  "  Tuesday 
night  —  in  here,  after  I  had  returned  from  see- 
ing Edith  home  —  why  did  you  give  me  such 
a  queer  look  when  I  first  mentioned  Dorothy's 
past? " 

Gibbs  dropped  into  a  chair,  but  did  not 
answer. 

"  Come,"  urged  the  other,  "  don't  be  pig- 
headed; you  know  you  ought  to  tell  me.  What 
did  you  keep  back? " 

The  magnate's  brow  gathered  in  a  scowl,  and 
he  sat  drumming  the  arms  of  his  chair  with 
impatient  fingers. 

"  I  suppose  I  should  not  suppress  anything 
that  may  be  instrumental  in  clearing  away  this 
cloud  of  mystery,"  he  presently  said,  when  Cole 
interrupted. 

"  I  should  hope  not !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"  But,"  the  other  went  on  evenly,  "  one  shrinks 
from  attaching  any  importance  to  an  anonymous 
communication. ' ' 

[258] 


TRAPPED 

"  So ! "  the  young  man  was  watching  him  in- 
tently. "  An  anonymous  letter !  How  interest- 
ing! And  what  did  it  say?  " 

"  I  sha'n't  tell  you,"  was  the  blunt  response. 

"  Lecomte  —  you  idiot!"  retorted  Cole,  sur- 
prised by  the  unexpected  rebuff;  "  it  may  be  the 
very  means  —  the  one  thing  needed  —  to  put  the 
case  into  my  hands.  Heavens  and  earth,  man! 
how  can  you  justify  yourself  in  withholding  a 
possible  key  to  the  riddle!" 

Gibbs  commenced  tugging  at  his  moustache. 
Said  he,  — 

"Look  here;  that  damnable  letter  could  not 
be  of  the  least  assistance  to  you.  Besides,  I  de- 
stroyed it  as  soon  as  ever  I  gathered  its  import. 
I  should  like  to  get  my  fingers  inside  the  collar 
of  the  scoundrelly  blackguard  that  was  respon- 
sible for  it." 

"  So  it  was  damnable,  eh?  —  and  written  by 
a  scoundrelly  blackguard.  What  else  about  it?  " 

"Nothing,"  shortly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  it  is  something.  It 
is  easy,  for  example,  to  infer  that  the  letter 
reflected  —  " 

Gibbs  broke  in  with  sudden  heat. 

[259] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  It  did !  It  reflected  on  Dorothy's  character 
in  the  vilest  manner  imaginable.  For  pity's  sake, 
drop  the  subject." 

"  In  a  moment,"  returned  the  young  man, 
imperturbably.  'When  did  you  receive  it?" 

"  Monday  morning  through  the  mail.  It  was 
typewritten,  without  date,  and  unsigned." 

'  Was  there  a  circle?  —  anything  of  that 
kind? " 

"  None  whatever.  There  was  nothing  but  a 
single  brief,  typed  sheet." 

"  Thanks,"  remarked  Cole,  squinting  at  the 
bronze  lamp.  "  But  you  are  remarkably  short- 
sighted, old  chap,  for  not  telling  me  all  about  it." 

Gibbs  responded  to  this  in  a  very  quiet  man- 
ner, but  the  words  caused  Cole  to  lift  his  brows 
and  to  whistle.  Said  Gibbs,  — 

"  It  were  better  that  Dorothy  remain  forever 
lost  than  that  I  should  use  such  a  scurrilous 
missive  as  a  means  of  recovering  her." 

After  the  astonished  whistle  — 

'You  didn't  speak  to  Dorothy  about  it?" 
Cole  asked. 

"  Certainly  not.  I  merely  treated  it  with  the 
contempt  it  deserved." 

[260] 


TRAPPED 

Cole  stared  —  and  thought.     After  a  while, 

*  Very  well,  Sir  Galahad,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
wasting  my  time  with  you.  It  is  deuced  funny, 
though,  that  you  should  be  more  contumacious 
than  the  first  individual  upon  whom  I  lay  my 
hands,  who  has  every  reason  for  remaining  still. 
Perhaps,  now,  if  I  used  the  same  methods  on 
you  —  " 

"  Foster,"  said  Gibbs,  with  abrupt  earnestness, 
"  do  not  fancy  that  I  am  ungrateful  or  unap- 
preciative,  for  you  know  the  contrary  to  be  true 
—  more  than  I  can  ever  express." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  think  that,"  the  young  man 
said,  opening  the  door ;  "  what  I  do  think  had 
better  not  be  expressed.  I  sha'n't  be  so  reticent, 
however;  I  will  give  you  an  object  lesson  in 
candidness:  Lecomte,  I  think  you  are  a  chival- 
rous old  ass.  Good-bye." 

Cole  arrived  at  his  club  in  time  for  a  late 
dinner.  He  ate  alone  and  with  more  zest  than 
had  marked  last  night's  meal,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  his  thoughts  clung  with  annoying 
pertinacity  to  the  anonymous  letter. 

Nine  o'clock  found  him  at  McFerren's,  curi- 
ous to  learn  whether  anything  had  come  of  his 

[261] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

and  Flint's  plan  to  trap  the  unknown  interme- 
diary. The  detective  was  seated  at  one  of  the 
round-topped  tables  in  the  bar,  a  mug  of  beer 
in  front  of  him,  diligently  perusing  the  pages 
of  an  illustrated  weekly  publication,  whose  an- 
tecedents and  principles  were  appropriately  pro- 
claimed by  the  gaudy  pink  hue  of  its  pages. 

When  Cole  addressed  him,  however,  Flint 
looked  up  with  the  blank,  vacant  stare  of  one 
contemplating  an  utter  stranger  who  has  unex- 
pectedly intruded  within  the  sacred  narrow  circle 
of  one's  individual  privacy.  At  least,  Cole  was 
made  to  feel  that  he  was  such  a  trespasser.  And 
as  he  was  by  no  means  dense,  the  young  man 
quickly  realized  that  such  an  elaborate  denial  of 
acquaintance  was  not  without  purpose;  therefore 
he  immediately  assumed  the  role  of  a  mistaken 
stranger,  apologized,  and  retreated  to  another 
table. 

Flint  resumed  the  pink  pages  (in  which  he 
seemed  to  be  prodigiously  interested),  and  did 
not  once  glance  in  Cole's  direction.  Occasion- 
ally he  would  take  a  reflective  sip  from  the 
mug,  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose  leisure  is  in 
no  way  circumscribed. 

[262] 


TRAPPED 

For  some  minutes  the  young  man  was  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  such  conduct;  but  presently 
his  attention  was  arrested  by  another  familiar 
figure  among  the  constantly  shifting,  moving- 
throng.  The  place  was  hazy  with  tobacco  smoke  ; 
there  was  much  loud  talking  and  noisy  laugh- 
ter, and  rattling  and  thumping  of  glasses  on 
bar  and  tables ;  in  one  corner  a  mechanical  piano 
discoursed  weird  rag-time  melodies;  hence  the 
few  individuals  who  chose  a  quiet  glass,  or  a 
cigar  or  pipe,  away  at  one  of  the  more  secluded 
tables,  were,  as  a  rule,  undisturbed,  even  un- 
observed. 

Again  Cole  glimpsed  the  familiar  figure,  and 
this  time  recognized  it.  It  was  the  detective, 
Vawter. 

He  looked  quickly  back  to  Flint.  That  gen- 
tleman had  laid  aside  his  paper  and  was  busily 
writing  something  on  what  Cole  took  to  be  a 
page  torn  from  a  memorandum-book.  To  the 
observer  it  appeared  as  if  the  detective,  from 
certain  uncanny,  facial  contortions  on  his  part 
and  an  occasional  glassy  stare  into  vacancy,  was 
engaged  in  an  extraordinary  mathematical  cal- 
culation, and  was  experiencing  considerable  diffi- 

[263] 


THE  YELLOW   CIRCLE 

culty  in  obtaining  a  desired  result.  Presently 
he  left  off  writing,  carelessly  crumpled  up  the 
paper  in  one  hand,  and  after  a  moment  or  so, 
rose  in  a  leisurely  way  and  moved  toward  the 
door.  As  he  passed  Cole's  table  he  contrived 
to  drop  thereon  the  crumpled  sheet  of  paper, 
which  Cole  at  once  covered  with  his  hand. 

The  young  man  waited.  Flint  paused  at  the 
cigar-lighter  to  light  a  cheroot;  he  exchanged  a 
word  or  two  with  the  bartender,  and  then  the 
swinging-doors  flopped  to  behind  him.  Cole 
observed,  in  the  hasty  look  he  cast  around  be- 
fore smoothing  out  the  paper,  that  Vawter  was 
occupying  the  chair  vacated  by  Flint.  Then  he 
flattened  the  sheet  upon  the  table. 

'  You  are  being  closely  watched,"  —  he  read 
that  far,  then  instinctively  ran  an  eye  over  the 
crowd :  if  he  was,  he  could  detect  nobody  in  the  act. 
He  turned  to  the  note  again.  —  "  V.  and  I  are 
unknown  to  the  parties,  so  it  is  better  that  you 
should  not  recognize  us.  Nothing  has  happened 
yet,  and  I  think  it  is  because  of  you  being  here  so 
much"  -  ("A  polite  conge  he's  handing  me," 
grinned  the  reader.)  —  "  but  whatever  you  do,  be 
careful"  —  the  two  words  heavily  underscored, — 

[264] 


TRAPPED 

""  especially  after  night.  For  the  present,  any- 
how, I  would  advise  you  to  stay  close  to  your 
rooms;  or  if  you  have  to  go  abroad  after  night, 
employ  a  cab  with  a  trustworthy  driver.  If  they 
mean  to  move  against  you  at  all,  it  will  be  soon, 
for  it  is  certain  you  are  regarded  as  dangerous." 

"  No  mysterious  allusion  about  that,"  was  his 
mental  comment,  as  he  carefully  tore  the  mis- 
sive into  tiny  bits;  "the  old  chap  goes  right 
into  particulars." 

Well,  he  had  a  cab  waiting  for  him,  and  if 
affairs  had  reached  such  a  stage  that  his  mere 
presence  was  sufficient  to  prevent  a  denouement, 
why,  he  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  afforded 
to  go  back  to  his  club  and  lounge  till  bed-time 
behind  the  big  plate-glass  windows  overlooking 
the  avenue.  No,  he  would  play  Dupont  that 
long-deferred  game  of  billiards;  it  would  be  a 
wretched  bore,  to  be  sure,  for  he  would  have  to 
give  Dupont  twenty-five  points,  but  the  game 
would  be  final. 

He  was  distributing  the  fragments  of  Flint's 
note  in  the  various  cuspidors  that  he  passed  as 
he  moved  about  the  room,  and  the  last  few  bits 
of  paper  were  fluttering  from  his  fingers  when 

[265] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

the  attention  of  everybody  was  suddenly  arrested 
by  a  crash  in  the  street,  which  was  instantly 
followed  by  a  tumult  of  clattering  hoofs,  loud 
shouts,  and  vociferous  profanity. 

Cole  was  swept  through  the  doors  by  the 
outward  rush.  A  crowd  was  already  rapidly 
gathering,  and  an  energetic  policeman  was  try- 
ing vainly  to  keep  an  open  passage  on  the 
walk. 

The  centre  of  interest  was  Cole's  own  motor 
cab,  lurched  drunkenly  against  a  telephone-pole, 
its  rear  axle  bent  almost  to  a  right  angle,  the 
driver  nursing  a  cut  forehead  and  heaping  bitter 
maledictions  upon  the  head  of  some  individual 
only  hazily  specified.  To  expurgate  the  driver's 
account  of  what  had  happened  would  leave  it 
unintelligible;  therefore  this  is  the  gist  of  what 
Cole  gathered. 

He  (the  driver)  was  waiting  with  his  cab 
close  to  the  curb,  as  his  fare  had  directed  him 
to  do.  He  had  been  half  asleep,  when  all  at 
once  he  was  aroused  by  the  clatter  of  an  ob- 
streperous team  just  beside  him  drawing  a  heavy 
truck,  and  the  shouts  of  the  truckman  to  quiet 
them.  But,  it  would  seem,  the  horses  were  un- 

[266] 


TRAPPED 

manageable.  At  the  very  instant  cabby  awoke 
they  swerved  toward  the  sidewalk;  one  wheel 
of  the  truck  struck  the  cab  violentlv,  which  was 

V      ' 

jammed  against  a  telephone-post,  and  cabby 
himself  was  hurled  unceremoniously  to  the  walk. 
It  all  happened  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye;  and 

then  the (a  string  of  unprintable  nouns 

and  qualifying  adjectives  designating  the  truck- 
man) had  hurried  away  without  pausing  even  to 
ascertain  the  extent  of  the  damage  he  had  created. 
The  cab  would  have  to  be  hauled  to  the  garage, 
and  what  was  cabby  to  do? 

His  fare  did  not  know;  but  as  for  himself, 
he  would  have  to  secure  another  cab,  which  was 
a  confounded  bore,  or  walk.  It  has  already  been 
mentioned  that  Mr.  Cole  was  averse  to  this  form 
of  exercise. 

And  then  —  what  luck !  —  the  vehicle  was  right 
at  hand.  True,  it  was  a  dingy  concern,  —  a  one- 
horse  four-wheeler,  the  numbers  on  the  exceed- 
ingly dim,  smoky  side-lamps  so  worn  as  to  be 
illegible;  but  the  animal  appeared  to  be  a  likely 
one,  and,  best  of  all,  the  conveyance  was  imme- 
diately available. 

Cole    scrutinized    the    driver;    but    the    man, 

[267] 


opening  the  door  at  the  moment,  had  his  back 
turned.  Cole  entered,  mentioned  his  club,  and 
again  squinted  at  the  driver;  this  time  the  fel- 
low's face  was  in  his  own  shadow,  and  besides, 
he  was  stooping  to  make  fast  the  door. 

For  one  instant  Cole  was  moved  to  alight; 
Flint's  message  flashed  through  his  mind;  but 
at  once  he  dismissed  the  idea  as  absurd.  The 
vehicle  had  already  started  and  was  going  at  a 
good  gait,  so  what  in  the  world  was  there  to 
apprehend?  What  could  happen  to  him,  driv- 
ing at  midnight  through  Williamsburg's  quiet 
streets  ? 

But  he  had  not  been  carried  many  blocks  until 
his  misgivings  were  once  more  awakened.  With- 
out warning  the  horse  slowed  to  a  walk,  and 
Cole  could  hear  the  driver's  voice  in  muffled  ob- 
jurgation and  complaint.  Both  windows  were 
down,  and  the  young  man  thrust  his  head  out 
the  one  to  his  right. 

;<  What 's  the  matter?  "  he  curtly  demanded. 

"  Dad  blamed  horse  had  to  go  lame,  sir,"  was 
the  reply  —  "  nigh  hind  leg." 

His  attention  directed  to  the  motive  power,. 
Cole  now  dimly  perceived  that  the  animal  was 

[268] 


TRAPPED 

« 

indeed  painfully  limping.  Well,  the  poor  brute 
was  not  to  blame  for  that. 

"Vile  lights  you  have,"  commented  he;  to 
which  cabby  cheerfully  assented,  vouchsafing  the 
information  that  he  would  not  lay  out  any  money 
on  the  old  piano-box,  as  he  was  saving  to  buy; 
an  electric. 

"  Private  owner? " 

'  Yes,  sir.    I  'ave  a  'ansom  besides  this." 

"  H'm  —  cockney,"  reflected  Cole.  There  was 
something  strangely  familiar  about  the  fellow's 
voice,  but  the  young  man  could  not  place  him. 

"  Ever  drive  me  before? "  he  next  inquired. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  sir." 

After  another  vain  attempt  to  see  the  man's 
face,  Cole  withdrew  his  head  inside  the  cab,  and 
the  conversation  lapsed  until  it  became  manifest 
that  the  horse  could  proceed  no  farther  without 
some  attention.  Cabby  was  profuse  with  his 
apologies,  but  the  unfortuitous  circumstance 
could  not  be  helped;  to  all  appearances  Cole 
was  confronted  with  an  occasion  when  even 
money  could  not  make  the  mare  go. 

The  spot  where  they  had  halted  was  in  the 
shadows  of  numerous  tall  buildings  —  patently; 

[269] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

warehouses  and  wholesale  establishments;  the 
locality  was  dark  and  deserted,  an  ideal  place 
for  an  attack,  Cole  thought,  if  any  were  intended. 

The  driver,  whose  features  still  remained 
adroitly  hidden,  was  busy  with  the  injured  hoof. 
Presently  he  stood  upright. 

"Not  a  stone,"  said  he;  "nails  all  seem  in 
place;  don't  know  what  can  be  the  matter.  The 
old  mare  never  done  me  this  way  before." 

Cole  changed  his  mind  about  the  fellow  being 
a  cockney. 

"  See  here,"  said  he,  sharply,  "  I  don't  propose 
to  stay  here  all  night.  If  the  nag  can  move  at 
all,  I  want  you  to  get  me  home." 

"Sure,  sir;   we  '11  try." 

The  attempt  was  a  failure,  however;  after 
one  or  two  lurching  forward  steps  the  beast 
halted,  holding  her  left  hind  leg  suggestively  up 
from  the  ground. 

All  his  faculties  alert,  Cole  opened  the  door 
on  that  side.  But  the  night  was  silent,  save  for 
the  creaking  of  harness-  and  carriage-parts  in 
rhythm  with  the  horse's  respiration;  not  a  soul 
was  stirring  on  the  walks,  not  a  vehicle  of  any 
kind  on  the  street. 

[270] 


TRAPPED 

"  Sorry,"  lamented  the  driver,  "  but  I  don't 
know  what  we  '11  do."  His  tone  was  almost 
lacrymose.  "Le'ssee:  it 's  not  over  two  squares 
to  the  Penn  Club;  if  you  don't  mind  the  walk, 
sir,"  he  suggested,  "I  would  n't  think  of  making 
a  charge  for  bringing  you  this  far  —  no,  siree." 

Cole  was  now  determined  not  to  start  off 
through  the  night  on  foot.  » 

"  Charge  or  no  charge,"  said  he,  with  a  tone 
of  finality,  "  I  do  not  intend  to  walk.  If  we 
can  do  nothing  better,  we  shall  sit  here  until 
somebody  comes  along." 

Now,  if  he  had  only  paused  right  there  and 
abided  by  that  determination !  But,  no ;  he  must 
be  after  hurrying  things,  must  this  young  man, 
and  — 

"  Let  me  see  that  damaged  hoof,"  said  he, 
briskly. 

He  reached  down  to  take  the  suspended  mem- 
ber, and  that  was  the  last  thing  he  knew  for  a 
long  time. 

The  instant  he  bent  forward  the  driver  struck 
him  a  cruel  blow  behind  one  ear  with  a  short, 
heavy  instrument.  He  dropped  to  the  street 
without  a  sound. 

[271] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Then  the  driver's  movements  became  expedi- 
tious. He  picked  up  the  limp  figure,  thrust  it 
inside  the  cab  and  closed  the  door.  Next  he 
returned  to  the  lame  leg,  snipped  with  a  pair 
of  wire-cutters  a  fine  wire  which  was  bound 
tightly  around  the  pastern,  whereupon  the  beast 
instantly  recovered  the  use  of  the  erstwhile  dis- 
abled member  as  if  by  a  miracle.  In  another 
second  he  had  the  reins  in  his  hands.  He  was 
about  to  whip  up,  when  of  a  sudden  the  helmet 
and  gilt  buttons  of  a  policeman  loomed  up  in 
the  dim  light  beside  him. 

"What's  the  matter  here?"  the  officer  asked 
brusquely. 

The  man  on  the  box  was  not  in  the  least 
disconcerted. 

"  Horse  lame,"  returned  he,  promptly. 
"Stone.  All  right  now." 

The  policeman  was  suspicious.  He  peered 
into  the  cab,  but  was  unable  to  discern  anything 
for  the  darkness.  Cabby,  however,  volunteered 
more  laconic  information. 

"  Gent 's  jagged.  Lives  at  Penn  Club.  Tak- 
ing him  home." 

'  What 's  your  number? "  now  came  sharply 

[272] 


TRAPPED 

from  the  officer,  after  he  had  spent  some  seconds 
vainly  striving  to  decipher  the  detached  blots  of 
paint  on  the  glass  of  one  of  the  side-lamps. 

"  Six-eighty-four.  Needs  touchin'  up,  don't 
it?  But  I  never  find  time  to  do  it,  somehow." 

After  some  further  scrutiny  of  the  vague 
markings,  the  officer  apparently  concluded  to 
give  cabby  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Perhaps 
they  did  suggest  to  his  mind  the  number  men- 
tioned; at  any  rate,  he  gruffly  directed  the  cab- 
man to  proceed,  adding,  as  the  latter  obeyed, 

"And  don't  forget  to  use  a  bit  of  paint  on 
them  figgers,  if  you  don't  want  to  lose  your 
license.  If  I  see  you  again  without  'em,  I  '11. 
report  you." 

"  All  right,"  called  back  cabby  through  the 
night;  "touch  'em  up  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing. Good-night." 

The  officer  did  not  respond.  He  stood  look- 
ing after  the  retreating  cab  a  bit  dubiously. 

"  I  did  n't  smell  liquor  when  I  stuck  my  head 
in  the  window,"  muttered  he. 

And  the  Perm  Club  did  not  see  Cole  that 
night. 

18  [ 273  ] 


CHAPTER   XIX 

i 

A  RESPONSE   TO    KELSEY's   SIGNAL 

PHINEAS  FLINT  entered  police  head- 
quarters Friday  morning  in  no  amiable 
frame  of  mind.  He  was  a  veteran  officer,  sea- 
soned in  the  service,  and  it  involved  a  consider- 
able effort  to  admit  that  he  had  been  guilty  of 
a  mistake;  yet,  what  else  was  he  to  do?  Since 
his  talk  at  McFerren's  with  Cole,  on  the  occa- 
sion of  that  gentleman's  notable  combat  with 
Kelsey,  and  after  a  subsequent  heart-to-heart 
conversation  with  the  Inspector,  he  had  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  matters  had  gone  decid- 
edly wrong.  Fortunately,  Mr.  Flint  was  a  con- 
scientious man;  he  mistrusted,  therefore  —  and, 
too,  without  seeking  to  justify  himself  —  that 
he  was  in  a  large  measure  to  blame  for  matters 
not  having  gone  right.  His  mind  teemed  with 
doubts  and  misgivings;  his  habitually  equable 
spirits  were  prey  to  a  very  unpleasant  dejection. 
Miss  Day  had  not  eloped;  he  was  now  sure 

[2741 


A  RESPONSE   TO   KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

of  that.  But  the  revelation  that  such  diverse 
occurrences  as  her  flight  and  Higdon's  murder 
were  traceable  to  a  common  origin,  had  as- 
tounded and  bewildered  him.  Why,  it  was 
nothing  in  the  world  but  close  application  to 
the  operations  of  this  same  Yellow  Circle  that, 
in  the  beginning,  had  led  him  to  dismiss  the 
Day  affair  with  the  instantly  formed  elopement 
theory;  the  case  was  unworthy  of  his  skill  and 
talents;  it  would  require  time  which  he  could 
ill  afford  to  spare;  while  for  months  the  Circle 
had  challenged  the  best  endeavors  of  the  police 
of  the  country  —  had  kept  them  constantly  in 
hot  water,  if  they  would  only  admit  it. 

Now,  however,  underneath  his  vexation  and 
mortification,  there  stirred  a  determination  to 
rectify  his  error,  a  zeal  to  achieve  success  where 
he  had  initially  failed. 

He  also  was  worried  about  Cole.  While  he 
had  acquired  a  high  opinion  of  the  young  man's 
courage,  yet  he  was  extremely  doubtful  respect- 
ing his  caution,  and  the  threat  and  warning  of 
the  Circle  were  not  to  be  ignored.  He  trusted, 
therefore,  that  he  had  not  been  additionally  neg- 
ligent in  merely  charging  Cole  to  remain  watch- 

[275] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ful  and  keep  himself  as  much  as  possible  out 
of  the  danger  zone. 

Detective  Vawter's  report  of  the  disabling 
mishap  to  Cole's  motor-cab  increased  Flint's 
anxiety,  and  within  a  very  short  time  a  num- 
ber of  things  transpired  which  seemed  to  war- 
rant his  worst  fears. 

First  of  all,  a  diligent  use  of  the  telephone 
failed  to  elicit  the  slightest  trace  of  the  young 
man.  But  while  the  detective  failed  in  his  main 
object,  when  the  Gervaise  number  responded  he 
was  given  another  nut  to  crack. 

Sparks,  the  Gervaise  factotum,  told  him  that 
earlier  in  the  morning  a  messenger  had  come  for 
Miss  Gervaise.  Whatever  the  nature  of  his 
message,  it  had  greatly  disturbed  her.  Failure 
to  obtain  responses  to  several  calls  on  the  tele- 
phone had  measurably  increased  her  agitation. 

In  an  excited  manner  she  had  ordered  her 
automobile  sent  from  the  garage  with  all  haste; 
she  had  seemed  hardly  able  to  contain  herself 
until  its  arrival;  her  face  was  drawn  and  white, 
her  hands  shook,  and  her  voice  trembled.  Then 
she  and  the  messenger  had  dashed  away  at  top 
speed,  she  herself  driving.  So  great  had  been 

[276] 


A  RESPONSE  TO  KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

her  perturbation  that  she  neglected  to  leave  word 
respecting  her  destination  or  when  she  might  be 
expected  to  return. 

At  this  very  instant  the  report  of  the  police- 
man who  had  reprimanded  the  unidentified  cab- 
man the  preceding  night  was  brought  to  Flint's 
attention.  He  and  Inspector  Swift  exchanged  a 
pregnant  look,  and  the  Inspector's  lips  closed 
ominously  beneath  his  moustache. 

'  Well,  it  looks  as  though  they  had  him,  all 
right,"  Swift  quietly  remarked.  It  was  the  sole 
comment  offered  by  either,  for  both  were  very 
much  at  sea. 

Had  Miss  Gervaise  been  inveigled  into  a  trap, 
too? 

The  most  that  could  be  done,  however,  was  to 
spur  to  activity  the  entire  department  machin- 
ery; while  something  might  be  learned  con- 
cerning the  destination  of  Miss  Gervaise  and 
her  automobile,  only  the  slenderest  of  clews 
was  in  their  possession  to  guide  the  search  to 
Cole. 

Flint  was  too  old  and  wise  an  officer  to  re- 
main long  dismayed  by  the  apparent  hopeless- 
ness of  the  task  confronting  him.  The  idea  had 

[277] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

become  fixed  in  his  mind  that  an  avenue  leading 
to  the  heart  of  the  mystery  would  be  opened  up 
in  one  of  two  ways.  The  one  most  immediately 
promising  was  hope  that  Kelsey's  appeal  would 
bring  forward  the  "  intermediary  " ;  should  this 
fail,  he  was  convinced  —  and  wfas  supported  in 
his  opinion  by  the  Inspector  —  that  a  raid  on 
the  fortune-teller's  establishment  would  not  be 
without  results.  If  Leporello  and  Cantarini 
were  not  the  same,  the  former  at  least  repre- 
sented the  highest  order  of  intelligence  that  the 
police  had  as  yet  been  able  to  connect  with  the 
Yellow  Circle. 

Since  Foster  Cole's  illuminating  conversation 
with  the  Inspector,  the  seer's  so-called  "  studio  " 
had  been  kept  under  a  close  surveillance.  From 
ten  till  four  o'clock  each  week-day,  with  per- 
haps a  lull  during  luncheon  time,  a  constant 
procession  of  smart  carriages  and  automobiles 
were  arriving  and  departing  before  the  house. 
They  discharged  or  took  up  stylishly  gowned 
women  —  some  singly  and  furtively,  others  in 
chattering,  excited  groups  —  accompanied  oc- 
casionally by  a  sheepish-looking  man.  Other- 
wise the  espionage  had  been  fruitless.  If  Le- 

[278] 


A  RESPONSE   TO   KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

porello  himself  ever  emerged  from  the  house,, 
the  watchers  did  not  know  it. 

Flint's  assurance,  though,  was  not  without 
one  or  two  disturbing  factors:  Did  the  crimi- 
nals question  the  good  faith  of  Kelsey's  appeal? 
And  hence,  had  they  grown  suspicious  of  the 
saloon  and  gambling-den?  After  careful  delib- 
eration he  could  not  see  how  or  why  they  should. 

The  creases  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes  were 
more  pronounced  than  usual,  the  eyes  themselves 
bright  and  restless,  as  he  proceeded  on  his  way 
to  McFerren's.  It  was  not  quite  nine  o'clock 
when  he  paused  before  the  ornate  plate-  and 
stained-glass  front  —  an  unseasonable  hour  for 
the  neighborhood,  which  wore  a  deserted  ap- 
pearance. 

As  he  lingered  on  the  walk,  reluctant  to  leave 
the  fresh  morning  air  for  the  sour  overnight 
reek  of  the  bar-room,  his  wandering  glance  took 
in  a  window  baseboard  on  one  side  of  the  door- 
way. There,  in  plain  view,  appeared  a  small 
yellow  circle  containing  Kelsey's  designating 
number  and  the  additional  letter  "  c,"  which 
meant  that  he  desired  to  communicate  with  his 
superiors. 

[279] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

But  as  Flint's  eyes  fell  upon  the  signal  he 
started,  and  they  kindled  with  a  sudden  eager 
light.  Over  it  had  been  chalked  a  cross  —  an 
assurance  that  the  signal  had  been  observed  and 
that  Kelsey  might  soon  expect  a  response. 

Instantly  Flint's  air  of  deliberation  fell  away 
from  him;  he  became  abruptly  alert  and  keen- 
eyed.  He  started  briskly  to  enter  the  saloon; 
but  just  then  the  swinging-doors  flew  open,  and 
his  look  was  riveted  upon  a  man  who  came 
forth. 

Instantaneously  the  glances  of  the  two  men 
clashed  and  swung  apart,  and  Flint  was  sensible 
of  a  strange  thrill.  Never  before  had  he  seen 
just  such  a  long,  swarthy  countenance,  one  so 
^vil  or  sardonic.  The  man's  regard,  brief  as  it 
had  been,  seemed  to  pierce  him  through  and 
through ;  to  question  his  motives  for  being  there, 
and  immediately  to  read  the  answer  and  mock 
at  it. 

But  for  the  moment  Flint  noted  only  one 
circumstance:  while  one  eye  was  like  jet,  the 
other  was,  oddly  enough,  gray.  Both,  however, 
were  curtains  hiding  whatever  might  lie  behind. 

It  could  scarcely  be  said  that  the  man  paused, 

[280] 


A  RESPONSE   TO   KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

for  in  the  next  second  he  hastened  away.  Flint, 
as  he  stared  after  the  retreating  figure,  began 
to  take  note  of  the  various  impressions  produced 
by  details  of  his  bizarre  appearance.  The  glisten- 
ing teeth,  revealed  in  a  swift,  derisive  curl  of  the 
upper  lip,  lingered  menacingly;  the  perform- 
ance had  been  decidedly  and  unpleasantly  wolf- 
like.  He  all  at  once  realized  that  the  sombre, 
malignant  countenance  reflected  a  sort  of  fero- 
cious strength;  it  was  stamped  with  a  refine- 
ment of  cruelty  which,  even  in  retrospect,  sent 
an  involuntary  shudder  through  him.  There 
was  nothing  coarse  or  gross  in  the  features;  on 
the  contrary,  they  indicated  a  high  order  of 
intellect,  the  unmistakable  cast  of  a  trained 
mind.  The  face  might  have  been  that  of  a 
student  and  scholar,  but  one  without  a  heart; 
one  to  whom  the  attribute  of  mercy  was  utterly 
incomprehensible. 

As  for  the  rest,  the  man's  clothes  were  shabby. 
He  wore  a  sweater  and  corduroy  cap;  but  a 
personality  so  extraordinary  must  necessarily 
overshadow  and  render  inconsequential  any  con- 
dition of  attire. 

Fairly  tingling  with  expectation,  Flint  hur- 

[281J 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ried  into  the  bar.  But  at  once  he  halted,  per- 
plexed, wondering,  inquiring.  There  was  noth- 
ing in  the  customary  early  morning  quiet  of  the 
place  to  warrant  the  feeling  that  some  porten- 
tous event  was  imminent.  Besides  Dan  Fo- 
garty,  busy  as  usual  at  this  hour  polishing 
glasses  behind  the  bar,  there  were  only  two  other 
persons  visible,  —  the  negro  porter,  engaged  in 
a  desultory  cleaning-up  process,  and  a  plain- 
clothes  man,  Spencer,  who  was  waiting  to  be 
relieved  from  his  vigil  over  Kelsey.  Kelsey! 
Yes  —  Flint's  eyes  were  adjusting  themselves 
to  the  dim  interior  —  he  was  here,  too.  He  was 
sprawled  over  a  table  in  a  far  corner,  his  head 
pillowed  in  the  hollow  of  one  arm,  asleep  ap- 
parently. A  shadow  obscured  the  corner,  and 
the  sleeper's  outlines  were  blurred. 

Masking  his  presaging  eagerness,  Flint  ad- 
dressed Dan,  while  Spencer,  yawning  and  relax- 
ing his  cramped  limbs,  approached. 

"  Know  the  man  who  just  went  out,  Dan? " 
"  Nix,"   Dan   returned,   not   pausing   an   in- 
stant in  his  dexterous  manipulation  of  cloth  and 
glasses.     "  He  's  a  new  one."     Then  abruptly 
his   brisk   movements    abated;    thoughtfully   he 

[282] 


A  RESPONSE   TO   KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

added  a  glistening  glass  to  one  of  the  inverted 
rows  on  the  bar.  "  Come  to  think  of  it,  though," 
he  added,  "  I  have  seen  him  in  here  once  or 
twice." 

"  A  guinea,"  now  chimed  in  Spencer,  speak- 
ing technically  —  "a  smooth  dip,  I  'd  say,  if  he 
was  n't  dago.  Jollied  Kelsey  some,  bought  two 
rounds  of  drinks,  then  blew." 

The  two  detectives  exchanged  glances;  Flint's 
contained  an  inquiry;  Spencer's  was  purely  neg- 
ative. 

"  Dip,"  echoed  Flint  in  a  moment;  "  why?  " 

"  Great  Scott !  "  returned  Spencer.  "  But  you 
didn't  see  the  man's  hands,  did  you?  Fingers 
twice  as  long  as  mine  —  slim  —  moving,  moving, 
moving  all  the  time.  Never  still  a  second.  Say, 
Dan,  did  you  notice  how  slick  he  fished  up  the 
mon  to  pay  for  the  drinks  ?  Could  n't  see  where 
it  came  from." 

But  Dan  would  not  enthuse;  he  was  once 
more  polishing  glasses  with  the  rapid  precision 
of  a  machine. 

"  Lots  of  guys  blows  in  here  what 's  as  smooth 
as  that,"  said  he,  with  lofty  indifference. 

Flint's  gaze  wandered  back  to  Kelsej'";  noting 

[283] 


THE   YELLOW   CIRCLE 

which  Dan  remarked,  with  an  expressive  nod 
toward  the  sleeper: 

"  Pretty  well  lit  up  last  night ;  the  dago  what 
just  went  out  put  him  on  the  blink,  for  sure." 
He  then  perceived  that  the  empty  glasses  had 
not  yet  been  removed  from  Kelsey's  table. 

"  Fetch  me  them  empties,  Smoke,"  he  directed 
the  porter. 

Flint  continued  to  contemplate  Kelsey;  some- 
thing in  the  man's  attitude  did  not  appear  quite 
natural.  His  mind  was  still  full  of  the  individ- 
ual he  had  encountered  in  the  doorway.  He 
was  both  surprised  and  perplexed  at  the  con- 
trast between  his  impression  of  the  stranger  and 
the  impression  made  by  him  upon  such  discern- 
ing observers  as  Spencer  and  Fogarty.  Spencer 
was  known  —  and  feared  —  in  the  underworld  as 
a  "  wise  gum-shoe,"  while  not  the  least  of  Dan's 
accomplishments  as  a  first-rate  bartender  was 
the  correct  facility  with  which  he  could  —  as  he 
himself  might  have  expressed  it  —  "  get  wise  to 
what  lay  behind  a  duck's  front." 

'  You  say  the  guinea  jollied  him?  "  said  Flint, 
incredulously,  his  eyes  still  on  Kelsey.  The  por- 
ter was  now  slouching  over  toward  the  table. 

[284] 


A  RESPONSE   TO   KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

Spencer  nodded.  "Good-natured  cuss;  soused 
a  bit  himself." 

The  mental  image  of  the  evil  face  framed  in 
the  doorway,  of  the  cruel,  glistening  teeth,  grew 
still  more  vivid  in  Flint's  mind,  and,  puzzled, 
he  stared  harder  than  ever  toward  the  shadowy 
corner.  Next  instant  he  was  electrified.  The 
negro  porter  squealed  like  a  frightened  rab- 
bit and  at  the  same  time  leaped  backward 
away  from  the  table.  Dan  shouted  a  strident 
alarm : 

"  What 's  biting  you,  Smoke?  " 

But  no  one  heeded.  Flint,  with  Spencer  at 
his  elbow,  was  already  bending  over  Kelsey, 
rolling  the  limp  figure  around  until  its  staring 
eyes  were  turned  up  to  the  light.  In  a  flash 
the  distended  pupils  reminded  him  of  the  wild 
glare  in  Higdon's  eyes  when  he  had  first  looked 
upon  his  dead  face. 

There  was  a  queer  gulping  sound  from 
Spencer. 

"  Dead !  "  he  breathed,  horrified. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  Spencer's 
awe-struck  pronouncement  was  punctuated  by  a 
musical  tinkle,  as  a  glass  slipped  from  Dan 

[285] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Fogarty's  fingers  and  splintered  upon  the  floor. 
The  negro  stood  shivering  with  terror,  his  back 
pressed  frantically  against  the  wall. 

Flint  laid  a  hand  over  the  three  empty  glasses 
on  the  table  and  turned  an  inscrutable  eye  upon 
his  confrere. 

"  And  under  your  very  nose,  Spencer,"  he 
marvelled.  "  Good-natured  —  jolly  —  ?  Lord, 
have  mercy! " 

Of  a  sudden  Spencer  paled  and  dropped 
heavily  upon  a  chair.  With  a  trembling  hand 
he  produced  his  handkerchief  and  aimlessly 
dabbed  at  the  drops  of  sweat  which  all  at  once 
appeared  on  his  brow. 

"I  —  I  took  a  —  a  drink  with  them,"  he  said 
unsteadily,  with  a  meaningless  laugh. 

However,  Flint  was  no  longer  heeding  his 
colleague.  His  thin  face  stern,  he  bent  over  the 
glasses,  examining  them,  fingering  them  gin- 
gerly, sniffing  at  the  lees,  until  Spencer  over- 
came his  nausea  sufficiently  to  comprehend  what 
the  other  was  about.  With  a  shaking  finger  he 
indicated  one  of  the  glasses. 

"  That 's  Kelsey's,"  he  said. 

"Sure?" 

[286] 


A  RESPONSE  TO  KELSEY'S  SIGNAL 

"  Sure.  I  noticed  at  the  time ;  it 's  larger 
than  the  rest." 

The  glass,  with  its  few  remaining  drops  of 
liquor,  was  carefully  segregated  from  the  others. 

Meantime  Dan  was  trying  to  stir  the  porter, 
who  still  stood  staring  in  a  fascination  of  horror 
at  the  figure  collapsed  across  the  table.  By 
means  of  much  whispered  profanity  —  an  invol- 
untary index  to  the  bartender's  own  excitement 
—  the  negro  was  at  last  moved  to  close  and 
bolt  the  side  and  rear  doors,  while  Dan  him- 
self hastened  around  an  end  of  the  bar  to  per- 
form a  like  service  at  the  front. 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  entrance  the 
swinging-doors  opened  and  a  man  entered. 
Vexed  at  the  intrusion,  Flint  wheeled  around 
to  get  rid  of  the  stranger  summarily,  when  he 
was  surprised  at  hearing  his  own  name  uttered. 
The  newcomer's  inquiring  glance  had  not  yet 
travelled  past  Dan,  of  whom  he  was  asking 
where  Mr.  Phineas  Flint  might  be  found. 

Curious  now,  the  detective  advanced,  and  Dan 
proceeded  to  make  the  doors  fast.  The  act 
startled  the  stranger,  who,  for  the  first  time, 
sent  an  apprehensive  look  coasting  around  the 

[287] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

room.  The  lifeless  figure  at  the  distant  table, 
it  would  seem,  bore  no  especial  significance  to 
him,  and  he  turned  to  await  Flint's  approach. 

The  latter's  survey  of  the  man  told  him  but 
little.  There  was  a  certain  imposing  dignity 
about  him  suggesting  the  Church;  but  he  was 
not  a  clergyman.  Behind  the  august  exterior 
the  keen  gray  eyes  discerned  an  obsequiousness 
in  readiness  to  manifest  itself  if  dignity  failed 
to  produce  the  desired  impression. 

"  I  am  Phineas  Flint,"  the  owner  of  that  name 
quietly  remarked. 

Without  a  word  the  man  bowed  and  extended 
a  sealed  envelope.  Flint  ripped  it  open,  and 
it  is  probable  that  no  experience  of  his  entire 
career  had  ever  so  bewildered  him  as  what  he 
now  read  on  the  single  sheet  which  the  envelope 
contained. 


[288] 


CHAPTER   XX 

CULLIMORE'S  DEFECTION 

COLE  awoke  to  a  consciousness  of  chill. 
Then,  simultaneously,  there  swam  into  his 
mind  a  sense  of  extreme  discomfort,  and  into 
his  vision  a  handful  of  stars  winking  lazily 
through  a  small  barred  window.  Occasionally 
something,  black  and  shapeless  against  the  outer 
night,  fluttered  before  the  window,  obscuring 
the  stars. 

Somewhere  outside,  a  mighty  volume  of  rush- 
ing sound  was  all  at  once  identified  as  the  night 
intimacy  of  wind  and  trees,  as  if  he  were  sur- 
rounded by  a  tempest-tossed  forest.  A  groan 
smote  his  ears.  In  the  next  instant  he  was  startled 
by  realization  that  the  groan  had  burst  from  his 
own  lips.  Simple  discomfort  expanded  suddenly 
into  a  torment  of  pain  that  racked  him  from  head 
to  foot. 

He  lay  on  a  couch  of  some  sort,  but  was  bound 
so  securely  that  he  could  do  no  more  than  breathe 

19  f  289  1 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

and  elevate  his  head  an  inch  or  two ;  which  latter 
experiment  he  tried  a  single  time,  regretting  the 
attempt  for  many  stabbing  minutes. 

Time  was  of  small  account ;  but  after  an  ordeal 
of  waiting,  approaching  footsteps  sounded  lightly 
upon  a  bare  floor.  They  quickly  grew  more  pro- 
nounced —  scarcely  louder  —  and  presently  a 
light  began  flickering,  with  increasing  brightness, 
through  a  grill  wrhich  was  on  a  line  with  his  eyes. 

The  grill  swung  away  as  a  door  opened.  Cole 
felt  that  his  probation  of  pain  was  to  merge  into 
a  lethe  of  delirium;  for  the  figure  who  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  bearing  a  small  hand-lamp,  was 
Cullimore*  Staid  and  imposing  as  ever,  his  dig- 
nity was  merely  accentuated  by  the  setting  of 
tiny,  cell-like  room,  which  leaped  forth  from  the 
nearer  darkness  with  the  lamp's  advent. 

He  entered,  closing  and  locking  the  door,  then 
turned,  with  the  lamp  elevated,  to  survey  Cole. 
Each  action  was  stamped  with  the  same  quiet 
efficiency  that  characterized  all  the  man's 
movements. 

Seeing  that  Cole  was  blinking  up  at  him,  he 
set  the  lamp  on  the  floor  and  acknowledged  the 
wordless  inspection  with  a  nod  of  deference. 

[290] 


CULLIMORE'S   DEFECTION 

Delirium  was  a  certainty  now:  as  the  light  de- 
scended, Cullimore  surged  to  gigantic  propor- 
tions and  blended  with  his  shadow,  producing  a 
grotesque  pattern  on  walls  and  ceiling. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  awake,  Mr.  Cole,"  he  re- 
marked in  silky  tones.  He  was  suave  and  polite, 
as  always.  "  I  hope  I  may  do  something  for  you, 
sir." 

Cole  laughed.  His  thoughts  had  been  cling- 
ing to  Edith's  shining  image,  and  to  think  that, 
in  their  madness,  they  should  have  shoved  upon 
the  screen  —  Cullimore ! 

The  man  looked  gravely  down  at  him.  But 
now  Cole  wanted  to  turn  his  head  away,  and 
sleep.  Then,  up  from  the  black  depths  into 
which  he  was  sinking,  understanding  came  rush- 
ing like  a  wave,  and  he  started  broad  awake. 
He  stared  in  wonder  at  the  deferentially  lowered 
head. 

"  Er  —  yes,  Cullimore ;  did  n't  mean  to  keep 
you  waiting.  Brandy  and  soda,  with  one  good 
lump  of  ice.  Make  it  pretty  stiff." 

Cullimore  bowed.     '  Very  well,  sir." 

Blackness  again,  and  Cullimore  was  forgotten. 
Again  Cole's  eyes  opened  with  a  start,  to  see  the 

[291] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

man  close  beside  him.  There  was  no  table  in  the 
room,  and  he  prepared  the  drink  with  the  tray 
on  the  floor.  Stooping,  he  held  a  large  lump  of 
ice  in  his  left  hand  and  struck  it  smartly  with  the 
heavy  brass  door-key  clutched  in  his  right.  The 
action  came  to  Cole's  vision  only  obliquely;  but 
as  key  crushed  upon  ice,  light  flashed  in  a  dark- 
ened recess  of  memory.  He  uttered  a  little 
cry. 

'  You  —  you,"  he  whispered  tensely;  "  you 
were  the  cabby !  " 

The  stooping  man  lifted  a  surprised  visage. 

"I,  sir?    What  cabby  do  you  mean?  " 

But  even  as  he  spoke  Cole  knew  that  his  in- 
spiration had  been  misleading;  the  strange  cab- 
man's voice,  the  tall,  familiar  figure,  the  face  kept 
so  carefully  averted  or  always  in  shadow,  could 
never  have  been  Cullimore's.  He  sighed  and  ac- 
cepted the  cooling  drink,  which  the  other  admin- 
istered with  all  the  gentle  deftness  of  a  profes- 
sional nurse. 

"  But  you  killed  Higdon,"  he  said,  as  soon  as 
his  head  had  been  eased  back  to  the  pillow.  "  You 
killed  Higdon." 

The   glass   nearly   slipped   from   Cullimore's 

[292] 


CULLIMORE'S  DEFECTION 

fingers.  For  one  strained  second  he  remained 
rigid;  then  he  placed  the  glass  on  the  tray  and 
stood  upright.  He  addressed  the  man  on  the 
cot,  without  an  accent  of  discomposure. 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  it  was  not  I  killed 
him." 

"  But  the  day  he  was  murdered,  I  saw  you 
leaving  the  old  house  —  the  house  whose  gate- 
post bore  '  The  Master's  '  sign  manual." 

For  a  long  moment  Cullimore  contemplated 
Cole,  then,  without  speaking,  he  stooped  once 
more  and  took  up  the  tray  from  the  floor.  Mov- 
ing methodically  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  he 
placed  the  tray  upon  a  low,  locker-like  box  that 
stood  there,  then  returned  to  his  former  position 
beside  the  cot. 

"  Whatever  you  know,  Mr.  Cole,  be  it  much 
or  little,  your  knowledge  does  me  an  injustice. 
Hindeed  it  does,  sir.  I  can  tell  you  this  much, 
and  it 's  just  how  much  I  had  to  do  with  'Igdon's 
death."  Cullimore's  earnestness  could  be  pretty 
accurately  gauged  by  his  carelessness  with  the 
letter  "  h."  "  I  put  that  mark  on  the  post,  and 
I  'urried  away.  I  never  saw  the  'ouse  before,, 
and  I  Ve  never  seen  it  since.  I  was  simply  act- 

[293] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ing  under  orders  that  I  dared  not  disobey.  I  'm 
acting  under  orders  now,  sir;  but  I  'opes  to  dis- 
obey them  orders." 

A  simple,  quiet  directness  behind  the  man's 
polite  address  was  not  without  its  effect  upon 
Cole.  But  he  was  left  harassed  by  perplexity. 

;<  Why  speak  of  'Igdon,  sir,"  the  other  was 
pursuing,  "just  at  this  time?  Wouldn't  you 
rather  discuss  your  —  begging  your  pardon,  sir, 
—  your  liberation?" 

The  young  fellow  continued  to  stare  up  at  the 
mild  countenance,  which,  except  for  its  smugness, 
might  have  been  that  of  a  bishop.  The  fire  of 
the  brandy  was  beginning  to  creep  into  his  veins, 
but  he  was  still  weak,  his  head  still  buzzed,  and 
all  at  once  his  impatience  sought  relief  in  a  queru- 
lous complaint. 

'  Why  the  devil  is  it  a  subject  for  discussion? 
Why  don't  you  cut  these  ropes,  or  whatever  they 
are? " 

"  I  want  to,  sir  —  believe  me,  I  do  —  but  we 
must  have  an  understanding  first,  sir." 

This  was  too  much  for  Cole's  tired  brain,  which 
could  understand  nothing. 

"  You  're  one  of  that  gang  of  cut-throats,  Cul- 

[294] 


CULLIMORE'S  DEFECTION 

limore,"  he  said;    "you  can't  make  me  believe 
otherwise  —  you  're  one  of  them." 

The  full,  mobile  face  became  melancholy,  al- 
most meek. 

"  Mr.  Cole,  I  must  dispute  what  you  say,  sir. 
I  '11  admit  that  I  might  have  been  misguided ; 
but  what  I  was  and  what  I  am  now  are  two  dif- 
ferent things.  I  'ave  put  all  that  be'ind  me,  sir. 
I  'ave  taken  my  life  in  my  'ands  by  breaking 
loose  from  them.  It 's  a  dangerous  thing  to  at- 
tempt, Mr.  Cole ;  but  I  'ave  resolved  to  try.  You 
see,  sir,  I  am  being  perfectly  fra'nk  with  you? " 
'  You  have  some  terms  to  offer,  then? " 
"  I  have,  sir,  with  your  permission." 
Cole  could  do  naught  else  but  listen ;  and  pres- 
ently it  all  began  to  form  itself  quite  clearly  in 
his  mind  —  only  he  could  not  keep  it  there ;  the 
grotesque  imps  of  fact  were  so  elusive!  Under 
normal  conditions,  he  might  have  marvelled  at 
the  man's  disclosures,  his  utter  moral  blindness  to 
the  enormity  of  deeds  wherein,  one  way  or  an- 
other, he  had  participated,  and  of  which  he  spoke 
with  undisturbed  equanimity.  But  all  his  emo- 
tions were  lulled  to  a  sort  of  torpor  by  pain ;  the 
man's  matter-of-fact  way  of  speaking  left  the 

[295] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

grim  things  whereof  he  spoke  without  color  or 
flavor. 

It  early  became  manifest  that  Cullimore  was 
bound  by  an  oath,  and  that  his  fear  of  it  was 
worse  than  the  fear  of  death.  Yet,  an  acute  ear 
would  have  discriminated  between  dread  of  the 
oath  and  dread  of  the  punishment  following  its 
breach.  So,  after  all,  the  man  was  frank  only 
when  he  could  ignore  the  oath's  spirit,  clinging 
tenaciously  to  its  strict  letter  by  silence,  evasion, 
or  downright  falsehood. 

He  started  from  the  premise  that,  having  been 
delegated  to  murder  Cole,  through  failure  to  do 
so  he  had  saved  the  young  man's  life.  This 
sophistry,  presented  through  an  infinite  variety 
of  ways,  wrung  no  expression  of  gratitude  from 
Cole,  Higdon's  fate  was  paraded  —  not  without 
point,  Cole  admitted,  —  as  an  example  of  what 
Cullimore  might  himself  expect  as  a  penalty  for 
shirking  the  obligation. 

"  Believe  me,  sir,  when  I  say  it:  I  don't  know 
'ow  you  got  'ere;  I  was  sent  —  begging  your 
pardon,  sir,  —  to  bash  you  over  the  'ead.  Strike 
me  dead  if  what  I  say  is  n't  true.  I  could  n't 
appear  unwilling  to  do  what  I  'm  bound  by  sol- 

[296] 


CULLIMORE'S  DEFECTION 

emn  oath  to  do,  sir;  I  'ad  to  make  a  show  of 
obeying;  and  'ere  I  am.  I  sha'n't  do  murder 
if  I  can  'elp  it.  You  meet  me  'arf  way,  Mr.  Cole, 
and  you  shall  go  free  —  so  'elp  me,  you  shall !  " 

Abruptly  Higdon  appeared  in  the  picture. 
It  seemed  that  he  was  to  have  been  Miss  Day's 
custodian.  He  had  spirited  her  away  —  Cole's 
vagrant  attention  paused  to  hearken  —  to  some 
secure  place,  which  he  had  refused  to  divulge. 

Up  to  this  point  the  young  man  had  listened 
with  less  interest  for  the  speaker's  troubles  than 
for  his  own;  but  had  he  not  been  restrained  by 
his  bonds,  at  Cullimore's  last  declaration,  no 
doubt,  he  would  have  started  violently. 

What  was  this  about  Higdon?  —  and  Doro- 
thy? Of  a  sudden  Cole's  interest  was  aflame. 

"  Say  that  again,  Cullimore,"  he  sharply  com- 
manded. 

'  'Igdon  never  told  where  he  took  her;  he  died 
with  the  secret  locked  in  his  bosom." 

When  the  full  import  of  this  statement  struck 
home  to  Cole's  comprehension,  for  a  moment  he 
was  merely  dumf ounded ;  then  his  head  rolled  in 
a  stupor  of  sickening  horror., 

Dorothy  imprisoned  in  some  unknown  hiding- 

[297] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

place,  and  the  lips  of  tlie  only  person  cognizant 
of  its  location  forever  sealed! 

"  It 's  the  solemn  truth,  sir,"  Cullimore  was  in- 
sisting, his  grave  earnestness  now  quite  extin- 
guishing all  aspirates.  "  Thirty  minutes  after 
the  young  lady  left  the  church  we  lost  all  track 
of  'er.  We  'unted  'igh  and  we  'unted  low,  too. 
Tgdon  'e  took  'er  and  'id  'er  away  —  as  soon 
as  we  'anded  'er  over  to  'im,  sir.  'E  wouldn't 
tell." 

Cole  was  panting. 

"  You  —  you  're  lying." 

The  man's  regard  was  a  mute  but  effective 
refutation  of  the  charge.  Cole  tortured  himself 
in  a  fruitless  effort  to  free  his  hands,  while  convic- 
tion crept  home  to  an  understanding  dull  with 
amazement  and  unspeakable  dread  and  loathing. 

"  Good  God,  Cullimore !  You  —  you  unprin- 
cipled brute !  —  do  you  mean  to  say  that  nobody 
has  been  aware  of  her  whereabouts  since  Tuesday 
night?" 

"  It  seems  so,  sir.  None  of  us  'as."  Sighing, 
he  lowered  his  eyes  in  silent  sympathy. 

"  Who  waited  in  the  automobile  behind  the 
church? " 

[298] 


CULLIMORE'S  DEFECTION 

The  answer  was  a  quick,  sidewise  glance  — 
Cullimore  was  anything  but  prepossessing  when 
he  looked  that  way  —  and  a  nervous  fidgeting 
of  the  fingers. 

"  Come,  Cullimore,  you  know." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  if  anybody  was  waiting 
there  in  an  automobile,  I  don't  know  who  it 
was." 

Rank  falsehood  or  evasion,  Cole  was  unable 
to  seize  upon  the  means  of  determining  which; 
the  curtained  passage  off  the  church  corridor  did 
not  recur  to  his  confused  mind  as  the  possible 
lurking-place,  nor  did  he  consider  that  the  auto- 
mobile might  have  been  temporarily  empty. 
He  groaned  in  an  agony  of  spirit  at  his  utter 
helplessness. 

The  matter  of  freedom  was  now  become  para- 
mount; desire  for  it  burned  him  with  a  fierce, 
mad  yearning,  and  he  was  ready  to  lend  ear  to 
anything  Cullimore  might  say.  He  would  grovel 
at  the  man's  feet  —  kneel  to  him  —  abase  himself 
in  any  way,  if  only  — 

"  Cullimore,  you  're  not  utterly  heartless,"  he 
said;  then,  with  quick  eagerness,  —  "are  you? 
For  God's  sake,  let  me  out  of  here  —  cut  these 

[299] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

bonds  —  and  any  sacrifice  I  can  make  for  you, 
I'll  bind  myself  to  do  it!" 

The  other  rubbed  his  hands  with  placid  satis- 
faction. 

"  I  was  getting  to  that,  Mr.  Cole,  —  pray  don't 
distress  yourself,  sir,  —  I  was  approaching  that 
very  point." 


[300] 


CHAPTER   XXI 

WHEN   THIEVES   FALL   OUT 

RESOLVED  to  its  final  elements,  Culli- 
more's  proposal  was,  after  all,'  quite  simple. 
He  wanted  to  save  his  own  skin.  The  caution 
of  wisdom  had  borne  in  upon  him  a  fearsome 
conviction  that  the  days  of  the  Yellow  Circle 
were  few,  its  doom  imminently  sure.  He  wanted 
to  put  as  many  miles  between  himself  and  Wil- 
liamsburg  as  he  could  accomplish  with  $10,000 
—  only,  he  had  n't  the  $10,000. 

There  was  a  share  in  a  much  richer  prize,  de- 
pendent upon  delaying  Miss  Day's  marriage  — 
Cole  could  not  follow  the  speaker  very  closely  — 
which  was  being  forfeited  by  failure  to  fulfil  the 
\  Circle's  commands.  But  what  was  gold  to  the 
wrath  of  "  The  Master  "  ?  —  or,  escaping  him, 
the  police? 

Cullimore  strove  to  make  plain  that  he  stood 
between  two  fires,  and  he  cringed  at  the  scorching 
flames  of  both.  Moreover,  he  unconsciously  re- 

[301] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

vealed  the  fact  that  he  was  very  much  of  a 
coward.  Once  let  him  disregard  a  mandate  of 
the  Circle,  and  punishment  would  follow  cer- 
tainly; death  overtook  delinquents  in  mysterious 
ways  and  when  least  expected.  His  pallor,  his 
anxious  starts  and  listening  pauses,  the  shaking 
hand  that  mopped  his  glistening  face  as  he 
spoke  in  hushed  whispers  of  that  unseen  terror, 
"  The  Master,"  left  no  doubt  whatever  on  this 
score. 

The  prisoner's  brain  was  too  like  a  seething 
caldron  for  its  owner  to  think  of  uncovering  the 
riddle  of  the  first  disappearance;  anyhow,  the 
riddle  was  only  of  secondary  importance  now: 
what  did  it  matter  why  they  had  taken  Dorothy? 
She  might  be  dead;  if  not,  he  must  be  free  to 
find  her  before  it  was  too  late.  Or,  at  least,  he 
must  carry  to  Lecomte  such  intelligence  of  her 
fate  as  he  might  glean  —  sometime,  when  his 
head  quit  aching  —  from  this  fantastic  recital, 
heard  now  with  wits  so  dull.  .  .  .  Suppose  it 
had  been  Edith?  He  shuddered  and  cursed 
inwardly. 

Of  a  sudden  he  steadied ;  his  mind  resumed  its 
normal  functions  with  luminous  precision.  The 

[302] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

germ  of  an  idea  had  fallen  there ;  it  clung,  it  took 
root  and  grew;  and  Cullimore's  monotonous 
monologue  flowed  on. 

Many  things  came  back  to  Cole  with  extra- 
ordinary vividness:  the  first  yellow  circle,  dis- 
covered on  Gibbs's  doorstep  the  night  Dorothy 
disappeared;  the  circle  on  the  message  in  the 
reliquary;  both  had  been  addressed  to  Culli- 
more,  the  second  one,  doubtless,  being  his  own 
private  symbol. 

Was  he  the  intermediary? 

If  he  spoke  truth,  no.  But  his  guarded  words 
—  so  framed  that  no  one  but  himself  was  incul- 
pated—  left  Cole  anxiously  in  doubt.  In  view 
of  what  he  proposed  doing,  as  a  last  resort,  he 
dared  ask  no  questions  touching  upon  Kelsey, 
or  in  any  way  betray  his  cognizance  of  Kelsey 
ever  having  communicated  with  Cantarini 
through  a  go-between. 

However,  with  what  information  the  police 
already  possessed  of  the  Circle,  Cullimore's  ad- 
missions to-night  established  a  certainty  that  he 
stood  close  to  the  Circle's  inner  workings.  If 
he  was  not  the  intermediary,  then  Cole's  idea 
might  prove  feasible  —  heaven  knew  it  was  des- 

[303] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

perate  enough  at  best.  If  he  was,  then  Cole's 
plight  indeed  must  remain  hopeless. 

Whether  or  not  Cullimore  was  the  interme- 
diary, could  he  be  persuaded  into  Flint's  or  In- 
spector Swift's  presence,  and  one  or  the  other 
be  apprised  of  the  significance  of  his  identity? 
Truly  the  task  seemed  precarious;  still,  not  so 
unassured  as  Cole's  present  predicament. 

Gradually,  as  he  weighed  the  chances,  the  germ 
developed,  bending  this  way  and  that  in  the  swirl- 
ing current  of  his  thoughts;  and  then  it  burst 
suddenly  into  blossom.  Cole  became  as  cool  and 
steady  as  a  rock. 

For  his  brilliant  scheme  involved  nothing  less 
chimerical  than  to  take  advantage  of  Cullimore's 
demand  for  $10,000,  and  under  cover  of  an  ap- 
parent acquiescence,  try  to  send  him  to  Flint  with 
an  order  so  worded  that  the  detective,  by  reading 
between  the  lines,  would  appreciate  the  impor- 
tance of  the  messenger. 

"  You  know,  of  course,"  said  he,  "  that  no  man 
carries  any  such  sum  about  with  him?  It  would 
be  impossible,  in  any  event,  to  obtain  it  to-night.'* 

Until  now,  if  one  might  judge  by  his  kindling 
countenance,  Cullimore  must  have  been  on  tenter- 

[304] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

hooks  concerning  the  outcome  of  his  proposal. 
Yet  his  eagerness  was  admirably  suppressed. 

"  Why,  sir,  my  plan  was  this.  Give  me  a 
cheque  for  the  amount;  give  me  your  word  as 
a  gentleman  that  you  will  not  offer  me  any  vio- 
lence if  I  release  you,  and  that  you  will  make  no 
attempt  to  escape  from  this  room  till  after  three 
o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon.  I  shall  mail  a  letter 
to  any  one  you  name,  who  will  release  you. 

"  It  would  n't  be  easy  getting  out  of  here,  any- 
how; the  room  was  designed  for  just  such  emer- 
gencies, sir,  —  " 

"  For  Miss  Day,  I  suppose,"  with  sarcasm  that 
left  the  other  unmoved. 

"  Well  —  yes,  sir,  —  among  others.  The  place 
is  isolated,  surrounded  by  trees,  and  it  is  not  likely 
that  you  could  attract  anybody's  attention.  But 
as  I  said,  I  am  willing  to  trust  to  your  gentle- 
manly word." 

All  at  once  Cole  saw  the  folly  of  attempting  to 
send  this  man  to  Flint  at  McFerren's,  with  any 
sort  of  message.  He  laughed  bitterly  at  the  ex- 
travagant notion.  Sore  indeed  must  be  the  straits 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  that  his  imagination 
could  devise  no  better  scheme  than  this! 
20  [  305  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

He  had  never  been  confronted  by  a  crisis  wbere 
the  outcome  promised  less.  If  he  dismissed  his 
poor,  makeshift  plan  as  utterly  impracticable, 
only  one  alternative  course  remained  open  to 
him:  he  must  give  Cullimore  his  word  of  honor, 
and  then  immediately  break  it!  The  instant  his 
bonds  were  released  he  must  overpower  his  jailor. 

In  his  estimation,  the  doubts,  the  innumerable 
aspects  of  the  situation  which  influenced  his  deci- 
sion first  one  way  and  then  another,  were  as  noth- 
ing to  the  deliberate  outrage  to  his  deep-seated 
principles  of  honor  which  lay  in  the  alternative 
course.  To  one  who  knew  him,  the  inward 
struggle  would  have  appeared  in  its  true  light. 
No  moral  obligation,  in  his  opinion,  was  more 
solemn  or  sacred  than  a  pledged  word;  and  the 
willingness  with  which  this  rascal  was  ready  to 
pin  his  faith  to  it  made  the  dilemma  no  less 
poignant.  Xo  amount  of  casuistry,  such  as  the 
end  justifying  the  means,  relieved  the  situation 
in  the  least.  A  man's  word  once  passed,  it  should 
be  upheld  though  the  heavens  fall. 

Still,  a  woman's  dire  distress  was  calling  for 
succor.  Even  now  she  might  be  starving.  Tak- 
ing the  most  favorable  view  of  her  plight,  she 

[306] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

must  be  frantic  with  terror,  suffering  the  pangs 
of  hunger  and  thirst.  A  groan  burst  from 
his  lips;  great  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his 
brow. 

"  Cullimore,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor." 

This  was  sufficient;  instantly  the  bonds  were 
severed. 

But  Cole  did  not  yet  stand  free.  He  was  re- 
quired to  bear  a  new  agony  while  the  blood  re- 
turned to  his  benumbed  limbs.  And  then  he  stood 
swaying  unsteadily,  sinking  beneath  a  deadly; 
nausea,  his  head  throbbing  madly. 

Lord!  To  think  of  attacking  a  man  now!  He 
was  as  helpless  as  a  babe.  He  must  put  the 
scoundrel  off  until  his  strength  returned,  and 
then  — 

The  walls  reeled  and  the  floor  rose  dizzily,  as 
he  lurched  forward  like  a  drunken  man.  Culli- 
more caught  him  before  he  fell  and  supported 
him  to  the  cot. 

"  Better  lie  quiet,  sir,  until  your  strength  re- 
turns. I  can  wait  a  bit." 

"'M  aU  right,  Cull  —  Cullimore ;  be  fit  as  a 
fiddle  in  a  minute." 

"  Perhaps,  sir,  a  bite  of  something  —  ? " 

[307] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

The  butler  made  the  suggestion  temptingly, 
but  Cole's  stomach  rebelled  at  the  very  idea  of 
food.  He  shook  his  head. 

'  The  box  in  the  corner,"  the  other  went  on, 
"  is  well  stocked  —  tinned  meats,  biscuits,  beer, 
mineral  water  —  " 

Another  groan  from  the  figure  sitting  deject- 
edly on  the  cot  checked  him.  This  time  it  was 
realization  of  his  utter  unfitness  to  carry  out  his 
determination  that  overwhelmed  Cole.  Why,  not 
under  a  week  would  he  be  in  condition  to  pit  his 
strength  against  a  schoolboy's.  After  all,  he  must 
catch  at  the  other  straw  —  make  it  his  dernier 
ressort  —  try  to  send  Cullimore  to  Flint. 

"  I  can  write,"  he  grimly  announced. 

"  I  have  blank  cheques  on  all  the  banks,  Mr. 
Cole,"  —  he  respectfully  tendered  them,  —  "  and 
a  fountain-pen." 

With  an  effort,  Cole  raised  his  head  and  met 
the  other's  eager  look. 

"  Not  a  cheque  —  I  have  n't  half  the  amount 
you  demand.  I  must  give  you  an  order  on  a 
friend." 

Cullimore  betrayed  a  sudden  disquiet. 

"  Not  Mr.  Gibbs,  if  you  please,  sir." 

[308] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

"No,  not  Mr.  Gibbs,"  drily.  "I  daresay 
you  would  n't  care  to  face  him  with  any  such 
document." 

"  I  have  severed  my  connection  with  Mr.  Gibbs, 
sir." 

But  Cole  was  wholly  incurious  respecting  irrel- 
evant details.  Fumbling  in  his  coat  pocket,  he 
produced  presently  a  forgotten  dinner  invitation. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  is  there  any  doubt  —  will 
there  be  any  —  do  you  think  —  "  Cullimore 
floundered  helplessly;  it  went  terribly  against 
the  grain  to  so  question  even  the  implication  that 
lay  in  a  gentleman's  actions,  particularly  when 
those  actions  were  so  straightforwardly  convinc- 
ing as  Mr.  Cole's  were  at  present.  But  the  young 
man  relieved  the  other's  embarrassment. 

"  I  assure  you,  Cullimore,"  with  a  level  look, 
"  you  shall  receive  just  what  I  send  you  after." 

Cullimore's  fears  were  assuaged. 

And  now  came  the  crisis.  In  the  next  minute, 
beyond  peradventure,  Cole  was  convinced  that  he 
would  again  be  lying  helpless  on  the  cot  —  per- 
haps dead  —  alone  in  the  cell-like  room.  What 
a  desperate  chance!  But  his  aching  head  could 
devise  no  better  one.  It  was  an  effort  to  speak 

[309] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

evenly,  with  no  other  break  in  his  voice  than  might 
naturally  be  ascribed  to  his  present  weakness; 
but  he  did. 

"Do  you  know  Phineas  Flint?" 

Apprehension  held  every  nerve  tense,  every 
muscle  taut.  The  ex-butler's  eyes  rolled  to  a  con- 
templation of  the  ceiling;  after  a  moment's  in- 
tense reflection,  he  was  obliged  to  admit  that  he 
had  never  heard  of  the  gentleman. 

Cole  permitted  himself  a  breath  of  relief;  one 
treacherous  bit  of  ground  was  got  safely  over; 
now  for  the  next.  The  reason  for  sending  him 
to  McFerren's  must  be  made  plausible,  whatever 
the  sacrifice  of  truth. 

"  Between  you  and  me,  Cullimore,"  —  the  voice 
grew  confidential  —  "  Flint  and  I  are  Pat  Mc- 
Ferren's backers  —  on  the  Q.  T.,  you  understand ; 
nobody  besides  we  three  even  suspects  it,  and  I 
would  n't  have  it  get  noised  abroad  for  ten  times 
ten  thousand  dollars.  I  can  give  you  a  note  to 
Flint  -  And  here  Cullimore  interrupted,  sus- 
picion reflected  from  every  lineament.  Or  did 
the  fellow's  countenance  mirror  only  a  deep 
amazement  ? 

"  McFerren's !  "  he  exclaimed, 
[sio] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

Cole  felt  that  his  heart  had  stopped. 

"  Pat  McFerren's,"  he  listlessly  repeated.  "  I 
shall  give  you  the  street  and  number.  Xot  a  nice 
neighborhood,  but  you  will  have  no  trouble 
find  —  " 

"But  — McFerren's!"  Cullimore's  habitual 
deference  was  for  once  put  to  rout;  his  bewil- 
dered mind  seemed  unable  to  digest  this  ex- 
traordinary confidence.  '  You  —  the  owner 
of  —  " 

"  No-no-no,"  Cole  testily  interrupted.  "Don't 
get  a  wrong  conception  of  my  connection  with 
the  place ;  I  simply  have  —  er  —  invested  a  good 
bit  of  my  money  there  —  Flint  and  I." 

For  a  long  time  Cullimore  remained  silent; 
and  that  period  of  doubtful,  anxious  waiting  — 
when  Cole's  very  life,  maybe,  was  balancing  on  a 
hair  —  so  harrowed  the  young  man's  soul  that  he 
was  almost  persuaded  to  rise  up  and  smite  the 
smug  face;  to  do  anything,  in  fact,  that  would 
break  the  unendurable  strain.  At  last  Cullimore 
spoke. 

"  But  —  Mr.  Cole  —  it 's  hard  to  believe  such 
a  thing." 

How  could  that  gentleman  surmise,  at  a  time 

[311] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

when  so  many  vital  considerations  weighed 
heavily  down  on  him,  that  the  very  absurdity  of 
the  assertion  was  enough  to  excite  incredulity  in 
the  most  simple  of  minds?  His  shoulders  rose  in 
an  indifferent  shrug;  no  ripple  of  his  emotion 
rose  to  the  surface. 

'  Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  "  all  negotiations 
are  off.  I  can  think  of  no  other  expedient." 

The  other  was  eying  him  most  intently,  striv- 
ing to  pierce  behind  the  inscrutable  mask  of  the 
refined  features. 

Mr.  Cole  was  a  gentleman ;  Cullimore's  calling 
had  brought  him  often  enough  into  contact  with 
gentlemen  for  him  to  recognize  the  stamp  when 
he  encountered  it,  and  he  knew  Mr.  Cole  pretty 
well.  His  uncertainties  were  not  very  complex. 
He  had  a  deep-rooted  conviction  that  a  gentle- 
man would  not  lie  to  save  himself;  but  he 
did  not  know  that  Cole  was  lying  to  save  a 
woman. 

At  last  Cullimore  drooped  once  more  to  a  mien 
of  deference. 

"  Write  the  order,  sir,  if  you  please,"  he  said ; 
"  I  can  judge  better  then." 

The  blank  half  of  the  dinner-party  invitation 

[312] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

supplied  the  necessary  paper,  the  inverted  tray" 
a  desk,  Cullimore  furnished  the  pen.  And  now 
Cole  considered. 

The  message  must  be  brief;  it  must  appear 
precisely  what  it  pretended  to  be.  Yet  it  must 
impart  to  Flint  —  if  it  ever  came  to  his  hands  — 
the  consequence  of  the  bearer  as  a  lieutenant  of 
Cantarini.  Furthermore,  the  reader's  attention, 
must  be  at  once  arrested  and  held  until  the  under 
meaning  came  to  the  top. 

It  was  no  easy  task  to  accomplish  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment.  And  such  a  moment! 

In  the  end  Cole  wrote  coolly,  unhurriedly,  al- 
beit a  trifle  unsteadily: 

MY  DEAR  FLINT,  —  I  must  have  $10,000  at  once. 
You  must  get  it  for  me.  Circumstances  are  such  that 
you  can't  come  to  me,  nor  I  go  to  you.  It  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  that  a  third  party  act  for  us ;  so  you 
must  trust  the  bearer;  he  is  the  intermediary. 

FOSTER  COLE. 

Whether  or  not  the  assertion  embodied  in  the 
missive's  concluding  phrase  was  true  —  in  a  quite 
different  application,  of  course  —  Flint's  readi- 
ness of  wit  in  interpreting  its  hidden  purport,  to- 

[313] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

gether  with  the  likelihood  of  Cullimore  carrying 
the  message  to  him  in  the  first  place,  constituted 
the  slender  thread  whereby  the  captive  hoped  to 
win  his  freedom.  Forgetting  his  scruples  of  a 
few  minutes  before,  he  chafed  like  a  caged  leop- 
ard, hot  with  anger  that  his  customary  fire  and 
strength  should  have  deserted  him  in  this,  the 
hour  of  his  greatest  need. 

Cullimore  was  reading  the  note,  pondering  its 
contents  with  puckered  brow,  and  in  a  minute  he 
would  turn  derisively  upon  its  writer.  Then  all 
would  soon  be  over ;  the  hypocritical  rogue  would 
doubtless  "  bash  "  him  over  the  head,  which  cheer- 
ful occupation  he  had  declared  to  be  the  ostensible 
purpose  of  his  call  to-night. 

Cullimore,  however,  did  no  such  thing.  Cole's 
pretence  had  been  taken  in  good  faith,  or  else  Cul- 
limore was  craftier  than  the  young  man  bargained 
for.  In  truth,  Cole's  fears  were  augmented  by 
the  man's  immediate  conduct. 

After  fully  a  minute's  scrutiny  of  the  written 
sheet,  he  carefully  folded  it,  sealed  it  in  an  en- 
velope, placed  the  envelope  in  his  pocket,  and 
announced  that  he  was  satisfied. 

Cole  smiled.     Such  childlike  simplicity  in  a 

[314] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL   OUT 

rogue  so  unprincipled  was  beyond  belief.  Totter- 
ing to  his  feet,  Cole  gained  the  nearest  wall, 
against  which  he  leaned  with  the  best  assumption 
of  nonchalance  he  could  command.  He  crossed 
his  arms  over  his  chest,  and  said,  with  a  spark  of 
his  old  whimsical  manner, 

"  Cullimore,  when  thieves  fall  out,  honest  men 
get  their  dues  —  sometimes  And  I  have  had 
to  oil  the  joints  of  that  old  saw  pretty  liberally  to 
make  it  work  smoothly." 

Cole  almost  fancied  a  napkin  over  the  crooked 
arm  —  that  the  ex-butler  was  waiting  to  serve 
him  instead  of  leaving  him  to  heaven  alone  knew 
what  fate  —  so  respectful  and  attentive  was  his 
air.  His  well-fed  face  fairly  radiated  good- 
feeling. 

"  You  always  did  enjoy  your  joke,  sir,"  he  re- 
turned, his  good  humor  admirably  tempered  by 
his  sense  of  a  servant's  obligations. 

"  And  I  hope  I  '11  enjoy  -  - "  He  bit  the  words 
off ;  he  was  about  to  add  "  this  one  " ;  but  it  were 
foolish  to  toss  the  fellow  even  a  veiled  warn- 
ing. But  Cullimore's  flexible  brows  were  raised 
expectantly. 

"  Yes,  sir? "  he  politely  urged. 

[3151 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

But  Cole,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  motioned 
him  away. 

"  Go  —  hurry.  The  time  to  laugh  has  not  ar- 
rived —  not  yet." 

The  other  turned  to  unbolt  the  door;  and  the 
instant  the  broad  back  and  rounded  shoulders 
were  presented  to  the  room,  Cole's  arms  dropped 
to  his  sides,  his  eyes  narrowed,  and  he  grew  sud- 
denly rigid. 

"Don't  forget  your  promise,  sir,"  the  man 
flung  across  a  shoulder. 

Cole's  lips  twitched  spasmodically,  his  hands 
clutched  convulsively;  but  he  was  gathered  for  a 
leap,  and  at  the  first  sign  that  bolt  and  door-latch 
were  free,  he  essayed  it. 

It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  no  doubt;  but  he 
could  not  stand  idle  and  watch  this  crafty  rogue 
depart  unhindered.  He  was  possessed  by  a  pro- 
found conviction  that  in  thus  leaving  him,  the 
fellow  was  merely  departing  to  perpetrate  acts 
of  deeper  guile  and  villany.  His  unhesitating 
willingness  to  carry  the  note  to  Flint  was  simply 
a  blind.  Unquestionably  he  would  take  it  to  Can- 
tarini  instead;  perhaps  they  would  even  use  it  to 
lure  Flint  to  his  undoing  —  Cole  had  not  thought 

[316] 


WHEN  THIEVES  FALL   OUT 

of  that  before  —  and  he  was  still  helpless  in  their 
power,  no  further  advanced  toward  liberty  than 
before  Cullimore's  visit. 

But  that  individual  was  alert.  In  a  panic  of 
terror,  he  wheeled  to  meet  the  impetuous  charge. 
The  instinct  of  self-preservation  was  alone  re- 
sponsible for  what  immediately  followed.  Some- 
thing flashed  in  the  light,  and  Cole  fell  with  no 
other  sound  than  the  thud  of  his  contact  with  the 
floor. 

Cullimore  darted  through  the  doorway,  the 
door  closed,  and  the  bolt  shot  home.  Then  he 
peered  through  the  iron  grill. 

"  I  'ated  to  strike  you,  sir,"  he  said,  his  voice 
trembling,  the  full  face  pasty,  "  but  I  'ad  to. 
For  shame,  Mr.  Cole !  You  Ve  made  me  lose  all 
faith  in  a  gentleman's  given  word,  so  you  'ave." 
And  with  a  fine  burst  of  feeling,  —  "I  shall  keep 
mine,  though,  never  fear." 

But  Cole  uttered  no  word.  He  lay  face  down- 
ward on  the  floor,  one  arm  extended  its  length 
before  him,  the  other  crooked  under  his  fore- 
head. 

Outside,  the  bird  choir  was  in  full  chorus  where 
last  night  the  wind  had  sung.  For  it  was  broad 

[317] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

day,  and  the  interior  of  the  tiny,  cell-like  room 
was  dim  and  unreal  in  the  wan,  sickly  light  from 
the  still  burning  lamp. 

Minutes  dragged  along,  and  the  man  on  the 
floor  never  moved. 


[318] 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A   MUTE   APPEAL 


arrived  before  McFerren's 
V—  '  gaudy  front  only  a  few  minutes  after 
Flint's  advent,  and  prior  to  entering  he  paused 
irresolute  on  the  walk  —  just  as  Flint  had  done, 
but  from  quite  different  motives.  He  was  still 
filled  with  wonderment  that  Cole  should  have 
sent  him  here. 

All  at  once  he  espied  the  yellow  circle  on  the 
window  baseboard  —  Kelsey's  token,  cast  like  a 
baited  hook  in  a  stream  —  and  his  wandering 
look  was  immediately  arrested.  He  stared  at  it 
with  considerable  amazement.  Likewise  he  was 
more  than  a  little  disturbed  by  its  presence  here. 
Darting  an  anxious  glance  up  and  down  the 
deserted  street,  he  drew  nearer  and  inspected  it 
more  closely,  and  in  a  moment  succeeded  in 
identifying  it. 

On  the  wedding-eve  he  had  been  awaiting  a 
message  from  "  The  Master  ";  this  same  symbol 

[319] 


on  the  doorstep,  earlier  in  the  day,  had  afforded 
him  a  means  of  identifying  the  messenger. 
Then,  at  nightfall,  he  had  answered  a  summons 
of  the  bell.  He  recalled  that  a  couple  of  ladies 
and  a  little  girl  were  passing  at  the  moment, 
chatting  gayly  and  laughing,  and  it  was  not 
until  they  had  gone  by  that  a  rough,  shabby 
man  hastened  up  to  him  and  whispered  in  his 
ear  the  password.  He  had  thereupon  thrust 
into  Cullimore's  hands  a  small  brass  box,  dis- 
solving, like  a  ghost,  into  the  shadows.  He  re- 
membered clearly  the  man's  unshaven  face  and 
repulsive  features  as  they  had  abruptly  appeared 
in  the  square  of  light  from  the  open  door.  He 
had  never  seen  him  before  or  since. 

However,  this  signal  might  be  weeks  —  even 
months  —  old ;  the  cross  indicated  that  it  had 
been  responded  to,  anyway.  It  did  not  once 
enter  Cullimore's  head  to  connect  it  with  any 
one  on  the  interior  of  McFerren's,  and  his  final 
conclusion  was  that  the  spot  had  been  chosen 
simply  because  it  was  a  favorable  one  whereon 
to  catch  the  attention  of  the  person  to  wrhom  the 
signal  was  directed. 

Thus  disposing  of  the  circle,  Cullimore  pro- 

[320] 


"  Edith  moved  her  clasped  hands  to  the  arm  of  his  chair.     How  girlish 
and  lovely  she  was  !  "  [Page  175] 


A  MUTE  APPEAL 

ceeded  into  the  bar-room.     A  minute  later  he 
handed  Phineas  Flint  the  envelope. 

From  frank  bewilderment  Flint's  keen  in- 
sight cut  straight  through  the  whole  gamut  of 
succeeding  emotions  to  an  appreciation  of  the 
fact  that  the  note  hid  a  message  intended  for 
his  eyes  alone.  Only  for  a  moment  did  he  con- 
sider that  Cole  really  intended  to  demand  $10,000, 
or  that  he  had  written  under  coercion.  Still  the 
characters  revealed  an  unsteadiness,  as  of  stress 
or  weakness,  and  a  second  thought  suggested 
that  the  message  might  have  been  wrung  from 
him  by  threats  directed  against  some  one  else. 
This  was  a  very  grave  possibility  in  the  light 
of  Miss  Gervaise's  unexplained  flight  in  her 
automobile  that  morning. 

But,  then,  if  so,  why  had  it  been  directed  to 
him?  No,  Cole  intended  to  convey  some  mes- 
sage to  him;  it  had  to  be  veiled,  and  it  was  up 
to  him  uncover  it. 

Then,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  con- 
cluding phrase  stood  out  from  the  rest  of 
the  missive,  as  if  inscribed  in  letters  of  fire: 
"  .  .  .  he  is  the  intermediary! "  The  word  had 
come  to  be  common  enough  between  them  for 
21  [  321  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

it  to  assume  an  important  significance  in  any 
circumstances. 

Yet,  powerful  as  was  his  feeling  at  that  mo- 
ment, his  visage  remained  composed  and  his  re- 
gard rested  abstractedly  on  Cullimore's  left  arm, 
midway  between  shoulder  and  elbow.  Purpose- 
less as  that  regard  appeared  to  be,  it  disturbed 
the  man,  for  he  gave  the  arm  an  involuntary 
twist,  as  if  the  look  were  a  ponderable  some- 
thing that  could  be  shaken  off.  The  movement 
apparently  succeeded,  too;  at  once  the  faraway 
expression  vanished,  and  Flint,  seeming  to  awake 
to  the  matter  in  hand,  transferred  his  attention 
to  a  survey  of  the  messenger. 

In  a  natural,  friendly  manner  he  suddenly 
slipped  a  hand  beneath  the  arm  he  had  been 
regarding  so  absently,  as  if  to  draw  its  owner 
to  one  of  the  tables,  and  in  the  next  instant 
Cullimore  had  disengaged  it.  He  was  plainly 
uneasy. 

Flint,  however,  appeared  not  to  notice  the 
shift;  he  began  speaking  pleasantly,  his  manner 
affable;  but  beneath  his  clasp,  brief  as  it  had 
been,  he  had  satisfied  himself  of  the  presence  of 
something  harder  than  garments  and  human 

[322] 


A  MUTE   APPEAL 

flesh.  Cullimore's  arm  was  encircled  by  a  metal 
band. 

Immediately  Flint  conducted  him  to  the  table 
where  Kelsey  still  lay  face  downward. 

"  Before  we  get  down  to  our  errand,"  he  was 
saying,  "  I  would  like  for  you  to  tell  me  whether 
you  know  this  man." 

Puzzled  at  such  a  request,  Cullimore  neverthe- 
less followed  his  agreeable  guide  to  the  table  in 
the  shaded  corner.  At  a  private  signal  Spencer 
moved  up  nearer  the  twain,  halting  just  as  Flint 
once  more  turned  the  dead  man's  face  up  to  the 
light. 

The  effect  upon  Cullimore  was  instantaneous 
and  extraordinary.  With  a  choking  cry  he  stag- 
gered backward  and  would  have  collapsed  upon 
the  floor  had  not  Spencer  guided  his  errant 
movement  to  a  chair,  upon  which  he  dropped 
weak  and  limp.  His  face  went  as  pale  as 
ashes,  its  well-fed  rotundity  becoming  suddenly 
mere  flabbiness;  his  jaw  sank  upon  his  breast; 
he  contemplated  the  dead  man  with  staring 
eyes,  under  a  spell  of  horror  and  terror  which 
for  a  time  deprived  him  of  the  power  of 
speech. 

[323] 


Instantly  he  had  recognized  the  coarse  fea- 
tures; in  the  expanded  pupils  he  had  read  the 
manner  of  death,  as  had  Flint;  and  in  view  of 
his  own  contemplated  desertion  and  flight  the 
terrible  significance, .  of  the  tragedy  struck  him 
with  overwhelming  force.  At  last  a  trembling, 
muttered  exclamation  struggled  from  his  twitch- 
ing lips: 

"God!  I  fancied  I  might  run  away  from 
him! " 

"From  Cantarini?"  asked  Flint,  drily.  But 
he  spoke  to  deaf  ears;  nodding  to  Spencer,  he 
tapped  the  frightened  man  upon  the  shoulder. 

"  I  guess  you  had  better  come  with  me,"  he 
said.  Still  Cullimore  did  not  heed,  and  after 
a  little  pause  he  tapped  the  shoulder  more 
insistently. 

"Buck  up;  this  is  a  pinch.  You  had  better 
come  along  quietly  —  understand?" 

All  at  once  Cullimore  fell  to  trembling  vio- 
lently. Something  like  a  sob  burst  from  his 
throat,  and  he  voiced,  in  the  dull  accents  of 
despair,  a  conviction  which  Flint  was  destined 
to  hear  many  times  repeated  before  the  morning 
passed,  "  There  's  no  'ope  for  me  now;  I  'm  as 

[324] 


A  MUTE  APPEAL 

good  as  dead.    All  I  arsk  is:   don't  let  'im  get 
at  me." 

Without  warning  he  slid  from  the  chair  and 
sank  in  a  flaccid  heap  upon  the  floor. 

Shortly  after  the  noon  hour  an  automobile 
dashed  in  among  a  group  of  unoccupied  build- 
ings, some  half-dozen  or  so  miles  distant  from 
Williamsburg,  which  stood  as  a  monument  to 
past  activities  of  an  abandoned  stone-quarry. 
One  of  these,  a  small  cottage  in  the  midst  of 
a  pine  grove  and  somewhat  detached  from  the 
others,  had  been  the  superintendent's  home  dur- 
ing the  period  of  the  quarry's  operations.  The 
city  made  no  provision  for  its  secret  police  to 
go  riding  about  the  country  in  automobiles;  but 
Flint's  errand  was  to  release  Cole,  and  as  Cul- 
limore  had  declared  Cole  to  be  here,  he  shrewdly 
conjectured  that  he  would  not  have  to  foot  the 
bill  himself. 

The  region  about  the  quarry  was  stony  and 
sterile,  and  in  consequence  sparsely  inhabited. 
Nevertheless  Flint  was  not  entirely  unfamiliar 
with  the  place.  It  had  been  the  scene  of  more 
than  one  notable  round-up  of  tramps,  in  at- 

[325] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

tempts  to  catch  some  malefactor  or  other  who, 
for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  chose  thus 
to  masquerade. 

As  the  motor  chugged  up  a  road  overgrown 
with  weeds  his  meditations  were  all  at  once  bent 
into  a  new  channel.  All  the  buildings  bore  many 
signs  of  frequent  occupancy  by  these  nameless 
gentry  of  the  road  —  all  save  one.  The  cottage 
in  the  pine  grove,  for  all  that  Flint  could  dis- 
cern, might  never  have  been  disturbed  since, 
years  ago,  the  superintendent  and  his  family 
departed  from  its  shelter  for  the  last  time.  He 
puzzled  over  the  circumstance  until  he  drew 
near  the  front  door,  where  the  cause  stood  re- 
vealed. On  its  panels  was  emblazoned  a  yellow 
circle  enclosing  the  capital  letter  "  M  "  -  the 
token  of  "  The  Master." 

Could  it  be  true  that  this  symbol  was  more 
potent  than  locks  and  bars  to  stay  the  wanton 
depredations  of  every  stray  tramp  and  vaga- 
bond? It  would  seem  so.  The  possibility  was 
vividly  significant  of  the  extent  of  Cantarini's 
power  and  authority. 

The  potency  of  the  yellow  symbol,  however, 
did  not  in  the  least  deter  Flint.  With  a  word 

[326] 


A  MUTE  APPEAL 

to  the  chauffeur  to  wait,  he  advanced  to  the  door, 
tried  it,  found  it  fastened,  and  with  one  stout 
kick  shattered  the  rusty  lock.  He  entered,  call- 
ing aloud  Cole's  name,  and  at  once  heard  an 
answering  shout  and  his  own  name  uttered  in 
an  ejaculation  of  surprised  recognition. 

The  cell  door,  though,  was  not  so  easily  over- 
come as  had  been  the  first  one  encountered.  Its 
heavy  oak  timbers  were  nail-studded,  the  lock 
was  a  ponderous  affair,  and  the  hinges  might 
have  served  the  door  of  a  bank  vault.  Mani- 
festly one  of  the  rooms  had  been  recently  trans- 
formed into  this  prison-like  cell.  After  some 
minutes  of  expert  manipulation  by  Flint,  how- 
ever, the  bolt  was  finally  shot  back,  and  Foster 
Cole  was  at  last  really  free. 

When,  after  Cullimore's  departure,  Cole  came 
to  himself,  it  was  with  a  feeling  that  he  had 
been  immured  for  months  instead  of  less  than 
twenty-four  hours.  The  blow  from  the  big 
brass  key  had  not  been  severe;  it  had  simply 
been  the  last  straw  beneath  which  his  endur- 
ance, already  strained  to  the  utmost,  had  given 
way. 

Furthermore,  he  awoke  to  a  realization  of  the 

[327] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

importance  of  recuperating  his  strength  as 
quickly  as  possible;  there  were  provisions  in  the 
locker,  and  after  a  forced  meal  he  turned  his 
attention  to  effecting  his  escape.  He  was  thus 
engaged  when  startled  by  the  front  door  crash- 
ing in. 

Flint's  embracing  glance  noted  with  approval 
the  quiet  air  of  determination  which  seemed  now 
to  possess  the  young  man.  Indeed,  there  was 
a  marked  change  in  Cole's  manner.  Since  con- 
sciousness had  returned  his  every  movement,  every 
thought,  had  been  actuated  by  a  fierce,  blind 
anger,  but  not  an  unreasoning  anger.  The  very 
fervor  of  his  resentment  against  the  villains  had 
steadied  and  sobered  him,  as  he  comprehended 
the  necessity  of  a  cool  head  and  deliberate  ac- 
tion. His  face  had  settled  into  inflexibly  stern 
lines;  his  eyes  wore  an  unchanging  hard  expres- 
sion that  betokened  how  ruthlessly  he  wrould 
ideal  with  the  arch-criminal  once  they  came  face 
to  face. 

The  automobile  was  whirring  townwards. 
Flint  was  voicing  his  admiration  for  the  way 
in  which  Cullimore  had  been  hoodwinked,  when 
Cole  cut  him  short. 

[3281 


A  MUTE  APPEAL 

"  Tell  me,"  he  directed  curtly,  "  just  what  you 
got  out  of  Cullimore." 

Flint  proceeded  to  obey. 

"  In  the  first  place,  your  deductions  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  Miss  Day  was  kidnapped  were 
correct." 

"  Why  did  they  do  it?"  The  hard  look  re- 
garded Flint  steadily. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Cullimore  don't  know. 
At  least,  he  does  n't  know  all  the  ins  and  outs 
of  the  matter;  his  ignorance  of  so  many  things 
explains  the  promptness  with  which  he  tumbled 
into  your  snare. 

"  By  delaying  the  wedding  till  after  the 
twelfth  —  that 's  next  Tuesday  —  Cantarini  was 
putting  himself  in  the  way  of  securing  a  vast 
fortune.  What  do  you  think  of  it?  The  Eng- 
lishman don't  know  how.  I  think  there  's  a  good 
deal  we  '11  have  to  learn  from  Miss  Day  herself." 

A  sudden  thrilling  recollection  left  Cole  out- 
wardly unmoved. 

"The  twelfth,"  he  repeated;  "that's  Miss 
Day's  birthday." 

'  You  don't  say."  For  a  second  or  two  Flint 
remained  in  a  brown  study.  "  We  have  n't  all 

[329] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

the  facts,"  he  continued  at  length;  "we  are 
handicapped.  When  we  move  again  we  must 
be  sure  it 's  in  the  right  direction.  Cullimore 
could  n't  throw  any  light  upon  Cantarini's  in- 
fluence over  the  young  lady;  I  think  the  an- 
swer is  very  simple,  though." 

Cole  calmly  ignored  the  proffered  explanation. 

'  You  're  not  telling  me  what  you  learned 
from  Cullimore,"  said  he. 

"  Correct.  But  I  'm  so  full  of  this  thing  now 
that  I  hardly  know  how  to  talk  coherently 
about  it. 

"  Well  then,  '  The  Master '  himself,  it  would 
seem,  attended  personally  to  all  important  mat- 
ters. It  seems  to  be  his  policy  to  keep  his 
tools  as  much  as  possible  in  ignorance  —  doubt- 
less one  secret  of  his  power.  He  administered 
the  poison  to  Higdon;  Cullimore  designated  the 
house  where  other  members  of  the  gang  were 
to  dispose  of  the  body  under  cover  of  night. 
By  the  way,  Kelsey  is  —  " 

"D Kelsey!  Stick  to  Cullimore."  The 

interruption  was  voiced  without  heat,  and  Flint, 
jmiling  whimsically,  continued: 

"It  was  Cullimore  and  'The  Master'  —  or 

[330] 


A  MUTE  APPEAL 

let  us  call  him  Cantarini  —  who  carried  Miss 
Day  in  the  automobile  Spotwood  saw,  to  the 
very  room  where  I  found  you.  They  threw  a 
lap-robe  over  her  head  as  she  ran  down  the 
corridor.  Kelsey  must  have  been  going  some 
himself,  or  she  must  surely  have  overtaken 
him. 

;<  They  were  all  in  a  hurry,  when  it  comes  to 
that ;  did  n't  want  their  absence  noted  in  town, 
I  suppose.  The  plan  was  carefully  laid  before- 
hand. After  turning  her  over  to  Higdon,  they 
did  n't  pause  an  instant  at  the  quarry,  and  Cul- 
limore  was  back  at  his  post  at  Mr.  Gibbs's  be- 
fore that  gentleman  would  have  returned  home 
even  under  ordinary  circumstances. 

"  But  a  cog  slipped  —  a  pretty  tangle  it 
makes,  too.  Why  should  Higdon  want  to  kid- 
nap the  young  lady  over  again  on  his  own  ac- 
count? He  did,  though.  And  it  is  self-evident 
that  his  and  Cantarini's  interests  were  not  by 
any  means  identical.  But  what  he  did  with 
her  —  " 

"  Stick  to  Cullimore,"  Cole  again  admonished. 
His  teeth  were  clenched,  and  the  gleam  in  his 
eyes  grewT  more  pitiless;  it  was  maddening  to 

[331] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

allow  his  mind  to  dwell  on  Dorothy's  probable 
plight. 

'  Well,  he  contends  that  all  along  he  held  out 
for  Higdon's  life  and  yours;  but  Cantarini  was 
cold-bloodedly  obdurate,  and  for  his  persistence 
he  was  delegated  to  put  you  out  of  the  way. 
He  did  n't  dare  appear  too  stubborn,  either;  but 
all  at  once  it  occurred  to  him  that  here  was  a 
chance  to  touch  you  for  funds  to  make  his  get- 
away. He  had  to  be  quick,  too,  if  he  did  n't 
want  Cantarini  to  get  wise  to  his  duplicity.  Nice 
cheerful  sort  of  person,  that  Cantarini." 

"  And  if  Cantarini  had  found  me  alive  he 
would  have  performed  the  finishing  process  him- 
self -  '  bashed '  me  over  the  head,  was  Culli- 
more's  graphic  way  of  putting  it." 

"  Very  likely,"  Flint  agreed.  "  You  were 
mistaken,  though,  about  Cullimore  being  the 
intermediary." 

'  You  have  captured  him  also?  " 

For  a  moment  the  other  was  silent,  then  — 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said  quietly.  "Of  course,  if 
Cullimore  had  been,  your  attempt  to  send  him 
to  me  must  have  failed." 

"  Lord  only  knows  how  I  hoped  he  was  n't. 

[332] 


A  MUTE   APPEAL 

I  used  the  word  because  I  knew  it  would  mean 
as  much  to  you  as  a  specific  direction  —  had  I 
been  permitted  to  write  one." 

Flint  nodded  comprehendingly,  and  resumed 
his  former  business-like  tone. 

"  It  was  Cantarini  himself  wrho  hauled  you 
away  from  McFerren's  last  night.  That  plan 
was  also  carefully  prearranged  in  every  detail. 
iWhy  he  did  n't  finish  you  at  once  —  when  he 
had  the  chance  —  I  can't  —  " 

"  I  think  I  can  tell  you,"  Cole  interrupted. 
"  Cullimore  is  not  alone  in  seeing  the  Circle's 
early  finish.  Cantarini  is  simply  hanging  on 
—  despairingly,  for  all  we  know  —  until  his 
schemes  ripen;  then  he  means  to  efface  himself 
without  the  least  consideration  for  his  tools. 
He  is  taking  no  more  chances  than  the  rest  of 
them." 

"  Perhaps  you  're  right.  Just  the  same,  you 
are  lucky.  What  sort  of  looking  man  is 
Cantarini? " 

Cole  described  him:  tall,  loosely  built,  his 
features  swarthy,  lean,  and  prominent.  "  No- 
body who  has  even  seen  him  once  could  ever 
forget  his  face,"  he  supplemented,  "  for  he  car- 

[333] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

ries  one  indelible  mark.  One  eye  is  as  black  as 
jet,  the  other  gray." 

Again  Flint  nodded,  but  his  features  did  not 
move  a  muscle.  After  a  while  it  further  tran- 
spired that  Cantarini  was  a  consummate  mimic, 
having  the  talent  of  adapting  himself  to  any 
character  he  might  choose  to  assume. 

"  A  cabman,  for  instance,"  suggested  Flint. 

'  Yes,  a  cabby.    I  know  now  that  it  was  he." 

For  a  while  Flint  considered  the  advisability 
of  telling  his  companion  about  Miss  Gervaise's 
mysterious  journey  of  the  morning,  but  on  sec- 
ond thought  concluded  to  postpone  the  news 
until  the  young  man  had  had  more  time  to  pull 
himself  together.  What  he  had  to  tell  would 
only  increase  his  hearer's  anxiety ;  there  was  noth- 
ing to  add  to  allay  it. 

The  motor  ^drew  up  at  police  headquarters, 
and  without  further  parley  Flint  led  the  way 
to  a  private  room.  He  asked,  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated, 

'  What  are  your  plans?  —  or  have  you  any?  " 

"  Find  Cantarini,"  returned  Cole,  unrelent- 
ingly stern. 

The    gray   head    nodded    appreciatively,    the 

[334] 


A  MUTE   APPEAL 

creases  at  the  corners  of  the  shrewd  eyes  deep- 
ened, the  man's  face  seemed  all  at  once  to  be- 
come a  veritable  network  of  wrinkles,  as  fine 
as  threads. 

"  Excellent,"  he  acquiesced,  "  but  not  specific." 
And  in  a  queer,  constrained  manner  he  pro- 
ceeded with  an  apology  for  the  cavalier  way 
with  which  he  had  disposed  of  the  affair  at  the 
church,  at  a  time  when  every  person  interested 
wras  in  such  deep  distress  of  mind. 

"  I  realize  now,"  said  he,  earnestly,  "  that  it 
was  a  tragic  moment  for  you  and  your  friends. 
I  did  the  young  lady  a  great  injustice  by  —  " 

"  I  knew  that." 

'  Yes,  you  saw  a  good  deal  that  I  was  blind 
to,"  Flint  ruefully  admitted.  Then,  after 
frankly  confessing  his  blunder  and  asserting  a 
determination  to  compensate  those  who  had  suf- 
fered thereby,  he  unhesitatingly  offered  to  devote 
all  his  time  and  attention  to  assisting  Cole  in 
his  search  for  the  missing  girl  and  in  bringing 
Cantarini  to  justice — "if,"  he  concluded  simply, 
"  you  are  now  willing  to  accept  my  aid." 

This  led  Cole  to  inquiring  whether  the  other 
had  any  plans  himself,  his  eyes  lighting  with 

[335] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

a  sudden  glow  of  eagerness  while  he  awaited  the 
reply. 

It  seemed  that  Flint  had  not  only  a  plan, 
but  a  very  simple  and  direct  one.  It  involved 
nothing  less  than  a  raid  upon  Leporello's  estab- 
lishment. "  Immediately,"  said  Flint;  "  go  after 
him  when  he  's  least  expecting  it." 

After  a  thoughtful  second  or  two  —  he  was 
remembering  to  be  deliberate  —  Cole  gave  the 
idea  his  approval. 

"  But  what  of  Miss  Day? "  he  asked.  "  Can- 
tarini  does  n't  know  where  she  is." 

"  Stop  thinking  about  it,"  was  Flint's  advice. 
"  One  thing  at  a  time  and  take  'em  as  they 
come.  It 's  Cantarini's  turn  now.  Get  him  into 
a  steel  cage  —  we  have  some  beauts  here  —  and 
we  can  direct  all  our  energies  to  finding  the 
young  lady.  We  should  be  able  to  take  up  the 
trail  within  the  hour  —  and  I  'm  not  without  an 
idea  or  two  concerning  that." 

He  argued  that  Higdon  must  have  had  some 
conveyance  at  hand  —  a  horse  and  buggy,  very 
likely  —  for  his  own  use ;  that  he  would  scarcely 
have  returned  to  the  city  with  Miss  Day,  and 
that  the  only  other  direction  he  could  have  gone 

[336] 


A  MUTE  APPEAL 

from  the  stone-quarry  was  to  the  north.  He 
confidently  declared  that  if  he  and  Cole  should 
go  over  Higdon's  only  available  route,  a  care- 
ful inquiry  at  every  house  along  the  road  would 
yield  some  definite  result.  He  pointed  out  that 
the  man  could  not  have  gone  far,  since  he  re- 
turned to  Williamsburg  —  and  to  his  death  — 
sometime  during  the  same  night. 

Meanwhile  Cole  had  produced  from  a  pocket 
of  his  coat  a  strip  of  very  fine  white  cloth  — 
linen  cambric,  to  be  precise  —  a  foot  or  more 
square.  Its  edges  were  frayed  and  rough,  as 
if  it  had  been  hastily  torn  from  the  garment  of 
which  it  had  originally  formed  a  part.  It  bore 
a  number  of  dark-brown  stains. 

"  Flint,"  he  now  said,  "  I  shall  be  very  glad 
to  have  you  for  a  coadjutor.  But  get  one  thing 
impressed  upon  your  mind  here  and  now:  when 
I  come  face  to  face  with  that  heartless  scoun- 
drel, I  'm  going  —  well,  whatever  happens, 
you're  not  to  interfere.  Get  that?" 

By  a  nod  Flint  signified  that  he  understood,, 
carefully  refraining  from  committing  himself,, 
however,  to  any  spoken  pledge. 

Cole  then  spread  out  the  strip  of  cloth,  con- 
22  [  337 1 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

templating  it  with  lowering  eyes,  and  it  could 
now  be  seen  that  the  brown  stains  formed  a 
rudely  printed  word.  Flint's  eyes  kindled  as  he 
scrutinized  it. 

"  Blood? "  he  queried,  bending  over  it. 

"Yes"  — Cole's  voice  shook  —  " blood.  I 
found  it  fluttering  outside  the  window  of  my 
cell,  fastened  to  one  of  the  bars." 

The  strip  of  cloth  bore  the  single  word 
"Help!" 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

MARIE   BAEBIER 

BY  a  fortunate  chance,  when  Cole  and  Flint 
strode  rapidly  up  the  walk  to  Leporello's 
wide  double-entrance,  there  was  no  waiting  con- 
veyance before  the  place  to  indicate  the  presence 
of  a  visitor. 

Their  quick  sally  was  the  signal  for  the  rear 
guard  of  plain-clothes  men  to  emerge  from  their 
various  places  of  concealment  and,  following 
closely  after  their  leaders,  surround  the  house. 
This  was  accomplished  quietly  and  unobtrusively, 
by  the  time  the  two  had  arrived  at  the  front  steps. 

The  French  maid  presented  the  chief  diffi- 
culty. How  to  get  by  her  before  she  had  time  to 
warn  Leporello  —  whom,  it  will  be  recalled,  she 
had  once  protested  to  Cole  she  had  never  seen  — 
was  a  cause  of  much  concern.  Indubitably,  they 
had  some  secret  method  of  communication  be- 
tween the  first  and  the  second  stories.  The  idea 
of  resorting  to  force  was  repugnant  alike  to  both 

[339] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

men;  but  it  was  mutually  agreed  that  if  she 
allied  herself  with  the  criminals,  after  the  pur- 
pose of  the  raiding  party  was  once  made  known 
to  her,  she  must  be  dealt  with  accordingly. 

The  inner  doors  stood  wide  open,  but  a  wire 
screen  barred  the  way.  Cole,  in  advance,  jerked 
at  the  handle,  and  then  fell  back  with  a  smothered 
exclamation  of  chagrin. 

The  screen  was  hooked  on  the  inside.  And 
each  second's  delay,  the  least  unusual  noise 
spelled  danger  not  alone  to  their  enterprise,  but 
to  themselves  as  well. 

Flint  was  not  an  instant  divining  the  cause  of 
the  check,  which  he  proceeded  to  make  only  a  tem- 
porary one  by  slitting  the  fine  wire  mesh  with 
his  pocket-knife,  and,  thrusting  his  hand  through 
the  aperture,  releasing  the  hook. 

Just  as  they  stepped  inside,  the  reception-room 
door  —  immediately  on  the  right  of  the  entrance 
—  opened,  and  the  petite  French  maid  appeared 
on  the  threshold,  surveying  them  with  question- 
ing eyes. 

The  next  moment  she  was  back  in  the  recep- 
tion room  again,  and  Flint  stood  over  her,  shak- 
ing an  impressive  forefinger  in  her  startled  face. 

[340] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

Cole  stood  hearkening  for  some  sound  that  might 
indicate  that  their  intrusion  had  been  detected, 
his  own  countenance  a  mirror  of  apprehension 
and  anxiety. 

But  for  the  moment  Flint's  headquarters  man- 
ner was  dominant. 

"  Not  a  sound  from  you,  my  girl,"  he  whis- 
pered menacingly,  "  unless  it 's  to  whisper  an- 
swers to  my  questions.  One  crooked  move,  and 
you  go  to  jail  on  the  double-quick  —  under- 
stand ?  Come,  now  —  where  is  this  Leporello  ? 
How  can  we  get  to  him  in  about  two  seconds  ? " 

Flint's  purpose,  of  course,  was  to  browbeat  the 
girl,  and  for  the  moment  he  succeeded  in  doing 
so.  The  pretty  face  blanched  at  his  truculent 
words  and  manner,  the  red  lips  fell  apart,  and 
she  would  have  recoiled  in  alarm  had  not  Flint 
roughly  caught  one  of  her  wrists. 

"  No  stalling  goes ! "  he  whispered  sternly. 
"  Answer  up." 

The  girl  turned  wildly  to  Cole.  Manifestly 
she  was  too  terrified  to  shriek  or  utter  a  sound,, 
even  if  she  had  been  so  minded.  There  was  recog- 
nition and  appeal  in  the  look  she  bent  upon  the 
young  man,  and  at  once  he  interposed. 

[341] 


"  No  use  being  rough,  Flint.  Let  me  talk  to 
ter."  Flint  reluctantly  released  his  grip  on 
the  girl's  wrist,  and  Cole  continued,  addressing 
her, 

"  My  dear,  this  man  is  an  officer  of  the  law; 
the  house  is  surrounded  by  police ;  your  employer 
is  a  thief,  a  murderer,  a  kidnapper  of  defence- 
less women,  and  they  have  come  to  arrest  him. 
Will  you  attempt  to  warn  him,  or  will  you  help 
us?" 

For  a  long  moment  the  girl  stared  at  him.  Her 
expression  of  alarm  gradually  melted  away  be- 
fore one  of  stupefaction  and  then  of  bewilder- 
ment ;  and  at  last  the  color  returned  to  the  pretty 
face  with  a  rush.  Then  a  strange,  hard  light 
glinted  in  the  long-lashed  brown  eyes.  It  was 
now  the  turn  of  the  two  men  to  be  amazed. 

"  Mon  dieu!  "  she  gasped.  "  Arrest  Monsieur 
Leporello? "  She  searched  Cole's  steady  gray 
eyes  earnestly.  At  last  —  "  Eh  bien!  I  shall 
certainly  help  you!  "  wras  her  decision. 

There  was  a  certain  mystifying  intensity  in  her 
manner,  as  of  flaming  passions  curbed;  but  the 
sincerity  of  this  unexpected  prompt  readiness  to 
-aid  them  could  not  be  doubted.  Flint,  too,  was 

[342] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

plainly  surprised;  nevertheless  his  alert  watch- 
fulness did  not  abate  in  the  least. 

"  Wait!  "  the  girl  presently  whispered,  laying 
a  warning  finger  upon  her  lips;  "  taisez-vous!  " 
With  an  abrupt  movement  she  turned  away,  and 
instantly  Flint  started  forward  to  stay  her.  Cole 
laid  a  firm,  restraining  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Do  as  she  says!  "  he  commanded.  "  Wait  — 
and  keep  quiet.  We  can  trust  her." 

The  officer  was  only  too  plainly  sceptical,  but 
he  paused  and  contented  himself  with  follow- 
ing, anxiously,  the  girl's  quick,  yet  cautious 
movements. 

She  released  from  her  brown  hair  the  lace  cap 
she  wore,  and,  advancing  to  the  wall,  thrust  it 
into  what  appeared  to  be  a  detail  of  the  panel 
carving.  After  this  puzzling  performance  she 
turned  again  to  Cole,  addressing  him  in  a  voice 
low-pitched,  but  no  longer  whispering.  Her  first 
words  and  the  accompanying  gesture  toward  the 
lace  cap  explained  her  mysterious  conduct. 

"He  cannot  hear  you  now  —  not  so  easily; 
that  is  a  spy-hole  —  a  speaking-tube.  I  think 
Monsieur  Leporello  sleeps;  but  maybe  not." 
Then  her  voice  suddenly  trembled  with  passion. 

[343] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"  Thief!  —  assassin!  "  she  said  bitterly.  "  Ah! 
c'est  vrcd.  He  has  deceive'  me.  His  secretaire  — 
you  remember,  monsieur?  —  he  was  oh,  so  kind 
and  good  to  me !  He  swear  he  love  me,  the  beast ! 
But  he  love  me  not  at  all;  he  make  one  fool  of 
me.  Monsieur,  there  is  no  secretaire  :  he  is  Mon- 
sieur Leporello  himself  —  croyez-vous?  I  find 
out  this  morning.  I  help  you  —  hang  he  em  !  " 

:<  What  is  your  name? "  now  demanded  Flint, 
his  keen  eyes  steadily  probing  her. 

"  Marie  Barbier,"  she  answered  simply,  and 
with  a  defiant  flash,  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  you! " 

Even  in  the  stress  of  the  moment,  Cole  could 
not  repress  a  smile.  Flint's  uncompromising 
attitude  manifestly  no  longer  dismayed  the  girl. 
But  in  the  next  instant  both  were  lending  an  at- 
tentive ear  to  her  rapid  utterance. 

The  entire  house,  she  informed  them,  was  lit- 
erally honeycombed  with  secret  passages  and 
windings,  and  also  there  were  artfully  arranged 
mirrors  and  spy-holes  and  ways  by  which  the 
fortune-teller,  in  his  cabinet,  could  see  and  hear 
what  transpired  in  other  parts  of  the  house. 

"  Hope  you  're  right  about  him  being  asleep," 
muttered  Flint. 

[344] 


MARIE   BARRIER 

"  He  always  takes  a  nap  after  luncheon,"  the 
maid  reassured  him.  She  then,  swiftly  and  con- 
cisely, proceeded  to  map  the  interior  of  the  house 
for  them. 

Rehind  the  alcove  in  the  cabinet,  among  other 
details,  there  was  a  secret  chamber  to  which  access 
was  gained  by  means  of  a  sliding  panel  in  the 
wall.  It  was  in  this  hidden  chamber  that  Lepo- 
rello  usually  enjoyed  his  mid-day  siesta.  This 
room,  it  seemed,  was  the  converging  point  of  most 
of  the  secret  passages  —  just  how  many  Marie 
did  not  know.  Flint's  eyes  gleamed  with  satis- 
faction, however,  when  she  announced  that  she 
could  guide  them  to  the  entrance  of  one  stairway 
in  the  walls  which  led  directly  to  the  room  in 
question. 

"  You  follow  the  girl,"  said  Flint  to  Cole;  "  I  '11 
try  to  get  close  enough  to  him  in  his  cabinet  — 
if  he  's  there  —  to  follow  him  through  any  hole 
he  may  uncover  in  the  wall.  Carry  your  gun  in 
one  hand,  the  flash-light  in  the  other." 

At  once  the  twain  separated.  Flint,  after  re- 
moving his  shoes,  went  stealthily  up  the  front 
stairs,  while  Marie  Rarbier  conducted  Cole  toward 
the  rear  of  the  house,  where  presently  she  paused 

[345] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

before  a  tall  bevelled  mirror  that  stood  against 
the  wall.  Pressing  a  spot  on  the  frame,  both 
frame  and  mirror  receded  noiselessly  from  them, 
disclosing  a  narrow  stairway  which  ascended  pre- 
cipitously at  right  angles.  Here  Cole  disposed 
of  his  own  shoes,  while  Marie  whispered  her  final 
instructions. 

"  The  stairs  turn  twice.  At  the  top,  run  your 
hand  along  the  wall  —  thees  side  "  —  indicating 
his  right  —  "  and  you  will  feel  a  row  of  round- 
headed  nails.  Find  the  fourth  one  from  the  top 
and  the  bottom  one.  Press  them  at  the  same 
time."  With  a  sudden  alteration  of  manner,  she 
patted  the  hand  which  grasped  the  revolver,  smil- 
ing into  Cole's  intent  eyes.  "  Courage,  mon 
ami! "  she  whispered,  and  silently  left  him. 

He  began  the  steep  ascent  with  no  other  light 
than  that  which  wandered  in  from  the  shaded 
opening  below,  and  when  he  rounded  the  first 
turn  he  was  in  Cimmerian  darkness.  With  the 
utmost  caution,  he  continued  to  go  up,  up,  count- 
ing the  steps  of  each  stair-section  so  that  he  might 
judge  when  he  arrived  at  the  top  of  the  last 
flight. 

At  last  the  stairs  ended.    He  held  his  breath 

[346] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

until  the  throbbing  pulses  in  his  ears  muffled  all 
other  possible  sounds.  He  heard  nothing  else. 
So  after  a  minute  of  tense  hearkening  he  pressed 
the  button  of  his  flash-light,  shielding  the  bull's- 
eye  with  the  hand  that  held  the  pistol.  Very  care- 
fully, he  permitted  a  thread  of  light  to  pierce  the 
darkness.  On  either  hand  and  apparently  within 
six  inches  of  his  nose  was  a  dead,  smooth  wall 
surface.  Then  the  light  flashed  out,  and  in  the 
next  moment  he  had  found  the  two  nails  controll- 
ing the  hidden  door-latch. 

After  he  had  pressed  them  he  knew  that  the 
wall  in  front  of  him  had  moved  away.  No  light 
was  revealed,  but  there  was  a  perceptible  freshen- 
ing of  the  air,  which  had  been  stifling  in  the  re- 
stricted stairway. 

The  moment  had  now  arrived  for  exercising 
the  utmost  circumspection.  A  sound  as  slight  as 
his  bated  respiration  might  easily  betray  his  pres- 
ence to  an  occupant  of  the  room  beyond,  and  if 
Marie  Barbier's  surmise  had  been  correct,  Can- 
tarini  was  now  somewhere  near  at  hand  in  the 
pitch  darkness  that  enveloped  him.  But  strain 
his  hearing  as  he  might,  not  the  slightest  sound 
rewarded  the  effort.  He  strove  to  make  out  the 

[347] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

breathing  of  a  sleeper ;  but  if  Cantarini  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  room,  he  slept  silently. 

After  a  while  he  advanced  one  stockinged  foot, 
every  sense  alert,  every  nerve  and  muscle  tense 
with  the  strain.  Still  nothing  happened.  The 
feeling  of  morbid  expectancy  was  fast  becoming 
unendurable.  His  imagination  was  beginning  to 
people  the  Stygian  darkness  with  every  sort  of 
horror  and  lurking,  unseen  danger.  Yawning 
trap-doors  waited  to  give  way  beneath  him,  need- 
ing only  the  touch  of  some  hidden  spring,  which 
perhaps  his  foot  was  even  now  pressing;  heavy 
weights  were  suspended  above,  which  his  next 
move  would  precipitate  upon  his  head ;  Cantarini, 
a  fiendish  smile  contorting  his  cruel  lips,  was  off 
there  in  the  dark  gathering  himself  to  spring 
when  the  intruder  advanced  one  more  step. 

The  invisible  terrors  were  surely  unnerving 
him,  and  it  was  a  positive  relief  when  a  sudden 
draught  signified  the  opening  of  a  door  or  win- 
dow. Immediately  a  snap,  like  a  dry  stick  break- 
ing, disturbed  the  silence,  and  an  electrolier  in 
the  ceiling  blossomed  into  light. 

The  tungsten  filaments  in  the  bulbs  illuminated 
the  scene  with  a  ghastly  simulation  of  daylight, 

[348] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

and  there,  within  a  dozen  feet,  the  bright  light 
striking  downward  across  the  swart,  maleficent 
visage,  stood  Leporello  the  Seer. 

It  was  Leporello  rather  than  Cantarini  that 
faced  Cole,  for  the  man  was  garbed  from  head  to 
foot  in  the  habiliments  of  his  unscrupulous  call- 
ing —  a  long  robe  of  black  velvet  tricked  out  with 
the  zodiacal  signs  and  various  cabalistic  symbols 
in  silver  thread.  On  his  head  he  wore  an  enor- 
mous black  silk  turban.  This  funereal  costume 
was  relieved  by  one  spot  of  color;  the  front  of 
the  turban  was  ornamented  with  a  circlet  of  mag- 
nificent yellow  Oriental  topazes,  which  gleamed 
and  coruscated  like  living  flame. 

Yet,  too,  it  was  Cantarini,  beyond  a  doubt ;  he 
who  was  supposed  to  have  been  drowned  in  front 
of  Santiago;  no  one  could  mistake  those  ill- 
matched  eyes. 

Obviously  he  had  just  entered  the  room,  for 
immediately  behind  him  a  gaping  aperture  in  the 
wall  signified  a  concealed  door,  which  he  had 
not  yet  had  time  to  close,  and  the  fingers  of  his 
left  hand  still  lingered  on  the  electric-light  button. 
Instantly  Cole  covered  him  with  the  revolver. 

"  Don't  stir,"  he  said  grimly. 

[3491 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

For  the  briefest  instant,  Cantarini  showed  that 
he  was  disconcerted.  He  would  have  been  justi- 
fied in  giving  way  to  mortal  terror,  because  he 
had  every  reason  for  believing  that  the  man  con- 
fronting him  was  at  that  very  instant  lying  dead 
some  miles  from  Williamsburg.  To  have  met 
him  in  any  surroundings  would  have  been  start- 
ling enough;  but  to  encounter  him  here,  stalk- 
ing through  the  very  penetralia  of  his  occult  es- 
tablishment, must  have  suggested  powerfully; 
that  Cole's  ghost  had  come  to  wreak  vengeance 
for  the  outrages  done  the  body. 

The  delusion  could  not  last  for  long.  As 
Cole's  temper  rose,  gray  hollows  appeared  in  his 
lean,  unshaven  face;  the  thin  lips  might  have 
been  cut  in  granite;  his  gray  eyes  wrere  merely 
two  pin-points  of  wrathful  fire. 

"Cantarini,  you  scoundrel!"  he  said,  with 
deadly  deliberation,  "  if  you  have  anything  to 
say,  say  it  quickly,  for  I  am  going  to  kill  you." 

Cantarini  remained  as  motionless  as  a  graven 
image,  but  a  sudden  pallor  overspread  the  dark 
features.  Looking  along  that  steel  tube,  levelled 
so  steadily  at  him,  and  into  the  sinister  eyes  be- 
hind it,  he  could  not  doubt  the  implacable  intent 

[S50] 


of  his  enemy.  His  cruel  lips  twitched  wordlessly 
once  or  twice,  and  then  he  spoke. 

"  Cole,  this  is  monstrous !  Would  you  shoot 
me  down  in  cold  blood?  —  without  a  chance?  " 

"  I  would,"  was  the  calm  response.  "  I  am 
going  to  do  that  very  thing.  It  will  be  no  more 
than  meting  out  to  you  the  precise  treatment  you 
deserve.  Be  quick." 

"  One  can't  think  —  very  well  —  in  —  in  such 
circumstances,"  the  man  faltered.  Still  it  was 
manifest  that  his  cunning  brain  was  never  so 
active  as  at  that  critical  moment.  Cantarini 
clearly  recognized  how  desperate  his  predicament 
was,  and  for  once  his  fertility  of  resource  could 
offer  no  way  out ;  his  faculties  seemed  benumbed. 

Doubtless,  within  the  next  ten  seconds,  Cole's 
finger  would  have  closed  upon  the  trigger,  — 
from  the  unconscious  prompting  of  desire,  if  not 
premeditatedly ;  but  instead  he  jerked  his  head 
up  with  a  smothered  imprecation,  yet  keeping 
the  revolver  pointed  directly  at  Cantarini's  heart. 
Flint's  leatherlike  visage  and  gray  head  had  sud- 
denly appeared  in  the  aperture  behind  the  seer. 

"  Out  of  the  way,  Flint !  "  Cole  cried.  "  I  don't 
want  to  shoot  you." 

[351] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"Nor  anybody  else,"  Flint  quietly  retorted, 
advancing  into  the  room.  "  I  think  I  have  saved 
you  from  committing  murder,  Mr.  Cole.  Control 
yourself." 

An  oath  burst  from  the  young  man's  lips. 

"  Flint,  if  you  don't  get  out  of  the  way,  I  '11 
shoot  anyhow." 

It  is  impossible  to  say  what  might  have  hap- 
pened, but  what  did  transpire  was  startling 
enough.  Flint's  arrival  afforded  just  the  diver- 
sion that  Cantarini  needed;  his  hand  had  not 
been  removed  from  the  light  button;  and  all  at 
once  the  room  was  plunged  in  darkness.  What- 
ever desperate  hazard  Cole  might  have  taken  while 
the  room  was  flooded  with  light,  it  was  a  different 
matter  shooting  aimlessly  in  the  dark,  when  he 
would  be  as  likely  to  strike  Flint  as  the  other. 

He  heard  a  brief  scuffling  noise,  a  sound  as  of 
rending  garments,  and  then  Flint's  voice  raised 
in  a  shout. 

'The  door  behind  you!  —  guard  it!  Don't 
let  him  escape !  " 

Cole,  however,  on  an  automatic  prompting,  had 
leaped  back  to  it  the  instant  the  lights  went  out. 
He  was  prepared  to  meet  any  shock  —  to  die,  if 

[3521 


MARIE   BARBIER 

need  be  —  but  nothing  happened  until  Flint 
found  the  light  button  and  snapped  on  the  lights 
again. 

Cantarini  was  not  in  the  room,  though  some 
yards  of  heavy  black  silk,  which  had  composed  the 
turban,  and  the  long  velvet  robe  were. 

"  The  fellow  's  an  eel,"  said  Flint,  panting  from 
the  exertion  of  the  brief  struggle;  "  he  wriggled 
right  out  of  his  clothes  like  a  snake  shedding  its 
skin." 

The  other  was  bitterly  reproachful. 

"Flint,  Flint,  Flint!"  he  groaned  in  accents 
that  sounded  the  very  nadir  of  his  disappoint- 
ment, "  why  did  n't  you  let  me  finish  the  wretch 
while  I  had  the  opportunity!  What  a  rotten 
bungler  you  are!  Now  he  's  gone." 

The  detective  did  not  pause  to  argue  the  mat- 
ter, nor  to  resent  his  companion's  biting  denuncia- 
tions. As  he  went,  rather  recklessly,  down  the 
narrow  stairway  which  Cole  had  ascended,  he 
merely  reminded  that  angry  and  chagrined  young 
man  of  the  cordon  around  the  house.  But  Cole 
was  not  to  be  placated. 

In  the  hall  below  they  found  Marie  Barbier, 
her  eyes  wide  with  excitement  and  fear. 

23  [  353  1 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"He  has  escape'!"  she  whispered  tragically; 
"  I  see  it  in  your  faces !  Do  not  leave  me  aga— 
Abruptly  she  raised  her  hands  to  her  cheeks,  and, 
cringing  as  if  from  a  blow,  stared  down  the  length 
of  the  hall.  Her  appeal  ended  in  a  terrified  cry : 
"  Voila  monsieur! " 

The  exclamation  wras  punctuated  by  a  deafen- 
ing crash  from  Cole's  revolver.  A  door  at  the 
extreme  end  of  the  hall  had  been  jerked  open, 
disclosing  Cantarini  in  shirt  and  trousers,  who, 
when  he  perceived  the  group,  immediately 
banged  it  shut  again.  With  a  movement  as 
quick  as  lightning,  Cole  had  raised  his  weapon 
and  fired. 

The  bullet  splintered  a  panel,  and  then  Cole 
and  Flint,  with  Marie  speeding  frantically  after 
them,  wrere  upon  the  door  so  quickly  that  the  man 
on  the  other  side  barely  had  time  to  vanish 
through  another  doorway  beyond. 

Again,  as  the  portal  swung  to,  Cole's  revolver 
cracked  with  ear-splitting  violence.  Again  a 
panel  was  shattered.  The  maid  shrieked  and  cov- 
ered her  ears  with  her  palms;  while,  with  a  mut- 
tered curse,  Flint  tried  to  strike  the  smoking 
pistol  from  the  young  man's  hand. 

[354] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

"You  fool!"  -Flint's  politeness  was  for- 
gotten—  "save  your  cartridges!  The  first  one 
warned  the  men  outside.  He  can't  get  away." 

But  the  white,  set  face  and  glittering  eyes  that 
turned  scornfully  to  the  officer  disillusioned  that 
individual  respecting  Cole's  intent. 

"  Try  that  again,  Flint,"  he  said  calmly,  "  and 
I  '11  pot  you." 

All  this  in  the  instant  following  the  second  shot. 
Then  came  an  answering  shot  from  the  other  side 
of  the  closed  door;  a  pinch  of  splinters  flew 
toward  them  from  the  panel  an  inch  below  the 
hole  made  by  Cole's  bullet,  and  the  maid  uttered 
a  hysterical  shriek. 

Instinctively  Flint  dragged  her  to  one  side.. 
But  with  the  fugitive's  shot,  Cole's  nostrils  sud- 
denly expanded  and  his  eyes  lighted  with  the  lust 
of  battle.  Utterly  heedless  of  the  danger,  he 
dashed  straight  toward  the  closed  door  and,  as  the 
lock  snapped,  into  the  room  beyond.  Then  he 
abruptly  halted. 

The  room  was  empty. 

The  other  two  were  close  at  his  heels,  Marie  in 
such  a  frenzy  of  excitement  that  she  was  almost 
powerless  to  act.  A  gray  mist  of  powder  smoke 

[355] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

hung  undulating  in  the  air,  its  pungent  odor 
stinging  their  eyes  and  nostrils. 

"It  ees  a  trap-door!"  Marie  was  screaming. 
"  I  know  eet !  To  zee  cellaire !  .  .  .  P rends 
garde,  monsieur! " 

The  warning  came  too  late  to  profit  Cole. 
Amazed  at  the  girl's  conduct,  as  on  hands  and 
knees  she  groped  wildly  over  the  floor,  he  did  not 
stir  until,  in  her  agitation,  she  pressed  the  hidden 
spring,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  he  was  stand- 
ing on  the  trap. 

He  plunged  downward  into  blackness,  his  pre- 
cious revolver  flying  from  his  hand,  as  he  grasped 
futilely  at  the  floor  to  stay  his  fall.  He  landed 
upon  his  feet,  but  with  a  shock  that  carried  him 
to  his  hands  and  knees,  that  brought  his  teeth 
together  writh  a  crack,  wrenched  his  neck  pain- 
fully, and  left  him  for  a  time  stunned  and 
breathless. 

He  was  dimly  aware  that  the  trap-door 
slammed  shut  behind  him,  but  was  vividly  sen- 
sible of  the  fact  that  he  was  in  a  darkness  abso- 
lutely opaque.  Before  he  could  stir,  a  sullen  red 
flash  and  a  scattering  of  sparks  came  simul- 
taneously with  a  loud  report,  and  the  bullet  that 

[356] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

fanned   his   face   sent  the   plaster   behind   him 
flying. 

And  he  was  now  unarmed!  Slowly  —  very 
slowly  and  carefully  —  he  lowered  himself  to  the 
cement  floor  again,  where  he  lay  face  downward, 
silent  and  inert,  and  waited. 

He  heard  a  stir  and  bustle  somewhere  off  in  the 
darkness,  but  Cantarini  did  not  fire  again.  He 
also  heard  Flint  tugging  and  wrenching  at  the 
trap-door  and  stamping  upon  it,  while  the  maid 
chattered  unintelligible  directions.  It  must  have 
stuck  fast  after  his  fall,  for  some  seconds  elapsed 
before  Flint  finally  got  it  open  again.  Then  the 
daylight  that  broke  the  Stygian  blackness  re- 
vealed a  cellar  with  cement  floor  and  walls,  which, 
save  for  a  few  small  boxes  and  the  indescribable 
odds  and  ends  that  accumulate  in  such  places, 
was  empty.  There  was  nothing  large  enough  to 
conceal  the  bulk  of  a  man. 

Flint  gauged  the  drop  the  instant  he  had  the 
door  open;  in  the  next  he  had  grasped  the  edge 
and  swung  down  beside  Cole.  Marie,  with 
clasped  hands,  her  pretty  face  colorless  and  her 
lips  parted,  knelt  beside  the  opening  and  strove- 
to  follow  with  wild  eyes  the  scene  below. 

[357] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

There  was  little  enough  to  reward  her  excited 
curiosity.  Cantarini  had  once  more  eluded  them ; 
there  was  not  a  sign  of  him;  and  Flint  was 
already  searching,  with  methodical  rapidity,  for 
the  concealed  door. 

Meanwhile  Marie  Barbier  grew  more  collected, 
and  presently  came  down  the  ladder  which  the 
others  had  ignored.  All  three  were  well-nigh 
breathless,  for  since  Cole's  snap-shot  in  the  hall 
not  more  than  two  minutes  had  elapsed,  and  the 
heat  and  flurry  of  the  chase  had  been  carried 
forward  with  a  rush  that  had  kept  every  muscle 
and  nerve  strained  to  the  utmost.  During  the 
present  temporary  lull  the  overwrought  girl 
all  at  once  succumbed  to  the  reaction  from  her 
recent  powerful  agitation. 

A  low,  joyful  exclamation  from  Flint  an- 
nounced the  success  of  his  search,  and  Cole  had 
just  warned  him  to  be  careful  of  another  shot 
from  the  dark,  when  Marie  rushed  forward 
and  grasped  the  detective's  arm. 

"  Messieurs!  messieurs! "  she  cried,  sobbing, 
"you  cannot  catch  heem!  It  is  not  to  be!  He 
has  escape' ;  let  heem  go !  " 

"  Tut,  girl,"  retorted  Flint,  impatiently  shak- 

[358] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

ing  her  hold  from  his  arm.  He  was  looking' 
too  eagerly  for  the  spring  controlling  the  door- 
fastening  to  heed  her  interruption. 

Marie  Barbier  drew  lithely  away  and  watched 
him  with  a  curious  catlike  intentness.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  door  swung  open,  and  she  was  on  Flint 
like  a  flash. 

"  Mon  dieu! "  she  cried  through  set  teeth, 
"You  shall  not!" 

Surprised  at  this  unexpected  attack,  the  man 
turned  to  release  her  determined  grip. 

"  Why,  you  little  idiot!  "  he  exclaimed.  "What 
do  you  mean !  " 

But  the  girl  clung  desperately  to  him  until 
Cole  interfered.  He  forced  his  fingers  beneath 
hers,  gently  but  firmly,  and  drew  her  around 
until  she  faced  him. 

"  Marie,"  he  said,  with  understanding,  "  you 
don't  want  such  a  monster  to  escape.  Think, 
child!  Think  a  moment  of  how  he  has  deceived 
you.  Not  only  is  it  true  that  he  does  n't  care 
for  you,  but  you  know  he  is  unworthy  of  even 
one  —  " 

"  Ca  suffit"  She  did  not  let  him  finish. 
Drawing  suddenly  away,  she  slipped  her  hands 

[359] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

from  his  and  for  a  moment  hid  her  face  in  them. 
They  were  very  delicate  hands.  Presently  one 
of  them  sought  her  throat,  while  the  other 
indicated  the  aperture  in  the  wall.  Her  head 
drooped,  her  eyes  were  downcast,  the  pretty  face 
was  drawn  and  white. 

"I  —  I  am  a  good  girl,  monsieur,"  she  said 
chokingly.  "Go." 

Flint  hastened  into  the  opening,  but  the  young 
man  lingered  and  looked  across  his  shoulder  at 
Marie.  She  had  not  stirred.  On  a  sudden  im- 
pulse he  came  swiftly  back  to  her,  and,  catching 
the  outstretched  hand  in  both  of  his,  looked  down 
at  her  with  sympathetic  discernment.  The  light 
in  the  cellar  was  dim,  but  the  girl  felt  and 
responded  to  his  interest;  her  melancholy  eyes 
met  his. 

"  Yes,  Marie,"  he  spoke  gravely,  "  I  know  — 
I  understand.  You  are  a  good  girl.  Au  revoir" 

Then  he  hurried  after  Flint. 

The  delay  occasioned  by  the  search  for  the 
concealed  door  had  been  fatal,  however.  The 
tunnel  extended  to  a  room  in  the  stable,  where 
a  door  opened  directly  upon  an  alley;  and  as 
the  stable  concealed  the  alley  from  the  premises, 

[360] 


MARIE   BARBIER 

the  last  stage  of  the  fugitive's  flight  had  met 
with  no  interruption. 

"  I  have  a  premonition  that  you  will  never 
land  him  behind  the  bars,"  Cole  gave  as  his 
opinion.  But  anger  and  disgust  all  at  once 
mastered  him.  "Oh,  you  sleuth!"  he  cried 
bitterly. 

But  words  could  not  help  matters  any.  Can- 
tarini  was  gone. 


[361] 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

DOWN! 

TN  the  whirl  of  Friday  morning's  events  Miss 
*-  Gervaise  must  not  be  lost  sight  of.  At  an 
hour  so  early  that  she  had  not  yet  risen,  her 
maid  awoke  her  to  impart  the  intelligence 
that  her  presence  was  urgently  desired  down- 
stairs. 

Miss  Edith  did  not  delay.  What  with  Foster 
Cole's  unaccountable  silence  and  her  anxiety  con- 
cerning Dorothy,  any  summons  would  find  her 
willing,  if  not  actually  ready,  to  obey  it,  in  the 
hope  of  learning  something  respecting  her 
friend's  fate.  Edith  was  a  loyal  little  body; 
and  so  it  was  not  long  until  she  was  confront- 
ing in  the  reception-hall  a  raw  and  awkward 
country  youth,  who  stood  nervously  maltreating 
his  hat  under  the  severely  disapproving  eye  of 
Sparks.  That  worthy  was  dismissed. 

For  some  reason  the  sight  of  the  youth  un- 
wontedly  agitated  the  girl,  and  for  a  moment  she 

[362] 


DOWN! 

was  obliged  to  drop  upon  the  hall  settle  until 
she  recovered  her  equipoise. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"I  want  to  see  Edith  Jarvice,"  returned  the  lad. 

'  That  is  my  name  —  Gervaise.  Hurry, 
please;  tell  me  what  it  is  you  want." 

The  lad's  name  was  Reece  Jones.  His  father, 
Hiram,  was  a  farmer  residing  near  the  village 
of  Eastview,  some  twenty  miles  north  of  Wil- 
liamsburg.  Last  Wednesday  evening  about  dusk 
his  father  was  loading  a  wagon  with  wood  in 
the  tract  of  timber  on  his  farm,  when  he  was 
astonished  to  see  off  among  the  trees  a  lady 
approaching  him. 

At  first  the  elder  Jones  was  inclined  to  believe 
that  he  beheld  a  wraith,  so  improbable  was  the 
circumstance;  but  fortunately  he  had  courage 
enough  to  wait  and  satisfy  his  curiosity. 

After  watching  the  apparition  for  a  while, 
he  soon  became  assured  that  he  was  looking  at 
no  supernatural  visitor,  but  one  of  real  flesh  and 
blood,  and,  moreover,  just  at  present  in  dire 
need  of  assistance. 

She  appeared  to  be  wandering  aimlessly,  and 
as  she  drew  nearer,  Jones  observed  that  she 

[363] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

seemed  to  be  dazed  and  on  the  very  verge  of 
falling  from  exhaustion. 

To  add  to  his  bewilderment,  her  dress,  which 
had  once  been  white,  was  of  a  rich  and  expen- 
sive fineness  that  was  far  beyond  the  pale  of 
anything  within  his  experience,  but  terribly  torn 
and  bedraggled  and  covered  with  burrs  and 
mud.  Her  hair,  of  a  wondrous  golden  hue, 
was  half-broken  from  its  fastenings  and  rest- 
ing, sadly  tangled,  on  her  shoulders.  She  w.ore 
no  other  head-covering. 

When  Jones  seized  her  hand  she  gave  him 
one  terrified  look  and  fainted  dead  away.  She 
was  now  at  the  Jones  home,  out  of  her  mind, 
and  calling  constantly  for  Edith  Jarvice. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  Edith's  mind  respect- 
ing the  identity  of  "the  strange  lady";  beyond 
peradventure  it  was  Dorothy  Day. 

But  how — ?  why — ?  what — ?  A  thousand 
questions  rushed  into  her  brain;  she  sat  for  a 
time  fairly  stunned  by  the  boy's  well-nigh  in- 
comprehensible revelation;  for  the  related  facts 
presented  such  an  extraordinary  state  of  affairs 
that  her  mind  was  utterly  unable  to  grasp  them 
in  all  their  horrible  significance. 

[364] 


DOWN! 

Dorothy  Day,  gentle,  refined,  cultured,  not 
inured  to  the  least  hardship,  to  be  wandering 
aimlessly,  half -crazed;  what  a  shocking  picture 
the  words  conjured  up  before  this  other  gentle 
girl's  mental  vision! 

What  dreadful  impulse  had  driven  her  blindly 
on  to  the  point  of  both  physical  and  mental  col- 
lapse? Had  she  been  going  thus  since  Tuesday 
night?  Wednesday  evening  it  was  that  Farmer 
Jones  had  found  her,  miles  from  Williams- 
burg;  had  she  traversed  all  that  long  weary 
distance  in  her  wedding-gown  and  frail  satin 
slippers?  The  possibility  was  too  awful  to 
contemplate. 

And  the  poignancy  of  Dorothy's  distressing 
condition  came  to  Edith  in  a  sudden  overwhelm- 
ing gush  of  feeling  that  left  her  wholly  dis- 
regardful  of  the  embarrassed  messenger.  She 
gave  way  unrestrainedly  to  a  fit  of  weeping. 

The  friendship  that  responds  without  ques- 
tioning is  a  fine  thing.  For  when  it  became 
certain  that  Foster  Cole  could  not  be  found, 
nor  Mr.  Gibbs  for  the  moment,  Edith  resolved 
to  hasten  herself  to  Dorothy.  True,  she  suf- 
fered one  or  two  pangs  of  misgiving  and  trepi- 

f365] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

dation,  for  Edith  was  neither  bold  nor  adven- 
turesome ;  but  her  resolution  remained  unshaken. 

Dispensing  with  the  services  of  her  maid,  she 
dressed  for  the  long  ride  with  nervous,  eager 
haste,  and  soon  she  and  the  boy  were  tearing 
madly  in  the  direction  of  Eastview. 

"  How  far,  Reece? "  she  ducked  her  head  a 
moment  to  inquire,  for  the  wind-shield  was  of 
small  account. 

'  Twenty-two  miles  I  'd  call  it,  mam,  to  the 
house,"  Reece  shouted. 

"Good  road?" 

"Pike  road,  mam;  straight  as  a  stretched 
balin'-wire  an'  smooth  as  the  inside  of  a  wheat- 
chute." 

Twenty-two  miles!  Within  the  next  ten  min- 
utes the  huge  car  had  accomplished  one-half  the 
distance;  the  journey  ended  just  twenty-four 
minutes  after  the  start. 

The  car,  long,  low,  and  rakish,  with  all  the 
signs  of  its  smart  newness  hid  beneath  a  coat 
of  dust  and  grime,  was  incontinently  abandoned 
under  the  widespreading  branches  of  a  patri- 
arch among  apple-trees,  almost  at  the  Jones 
doorstep.  Mrs.  Jones  herself  conducted  Edith 

[3G6] 


DOWN ! 

at  once  to  a  small  but  neat  upstairs  bedroom. 
The  good  lady's  manner  betrayed  a  consuming 
curiosity  which  Edith,  of  course,  was  obliged  to 
ignore. 

"  You  —  you  Ve  been  very  kind,"  the  girl 
faltered,  pausing  at  the  door ;  "  but  pray  leave 
us  together  —  for  the  present." 

Regretfully,  but  with  unabated  cheerfulness, 
Mrs.  Jones  went  down  the  stairs. 

All  a-quiver  with  agitation  —  nervously  ex- 
pectant that  hope  was  about  to  be  realized,  fear- 
fully apprehensive  that  she  was  to  be  doomed 
to  bitter  disappointment  —  Edith  was  obliged 
to  pause  until  she  stilled  the  wild  beating  of  her 
heart.  But  in  a  few  moments  she  succeeded  in 
mastering  her  emotion;  then,  advancing  on  tip- 
toe to  the  bed,  she  looked  heartbrokenly  down 
on  the  face  of  the  sleeper.  The  features  were 
wan  and  pinched  —  Edith  choked  back  a  sob  — 
but  they  were  Dorothy's. 

"A  light  breeze  at  the  windows  was  playing  about, 
And  the  white  curtains  floated,  now  in,  and  now  out." 

It  bore  gently  all  the  fragrance  of  the  fair 
flowering  June,  touching  the  pale  cheeks  with 
the  gentleness  of  a  dream-kiss. 

[3671 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Still,  notwithstanding  her  pallor  and  the  look 
of  weariness,  the  sleeping  girl  was  strikingly 
beautiful;  her  blonde  hair  overflowed  the  pil- 
lows in  an  exuberant  cascade  of  gold,  the  long 
lashes  lay  on  her  cheeks  like  soot  on  snow. 

Edith  was  wildly  curious  to  hear  from  Doro- 
thy's lips  the  secret  of  her  flight,  yet  not  for 
worlds  would  she  disturb  her  now. 

However,  there  is  a  subtle,  mysterious  teleg- 
raphy between  those  who  slumber  and  those  who 
are  awake,  whereby  messages  are  conveyed  to 
that  monitor  mind  which  never  sleeps.  In  a 
little  while  Dorothy  felt  the  influence  of  her 
friend's  sorrowful  inspection;  she  stirred  and 
sighed,  and  then  opened  her  eyes  to  meet  the 
loving,  commiserating  look  bent  upon  her. 

Instantly  Edith  was  seated  on  the  bed,  strain- 
ing the  beautiful  blonde  head  to  her  bosom. 

Close  to  eight  o'clock  that  evening  a  large 
touring-car,  bearing  every  appearance  of  a  recent 
cup  competitor,  drew  up  at  the  curb  before  Miss 
Day's  residence.  Apparently  there  was  nobody 
near  to  observe  that  the  machine  bore  only  two 
passengers,  —  two  ladies,  —  one  of  whom  was 

[368] 


DOWN! 

driving,  while  the  other  reclined  listlessly  in  the 
tonneau.  They  were  Edith  and  Dorothy. 

The  former,  without  stopping  the  engine, 
turned  brightly  to  her  companion,  saying, 

"  The  ride  has  n't  been  too  much  for  you, 
Dolly  dear,  has  it?  But  here  we  are  at  last  — 
and  oh,  it 's  so  much  better  to  be  at  home  than 
to  be  among  strangers,  however  kind  they  are. 
You  just  sit  here,  while  I  go  fetch  Sarah." 

Miss  Day  remained  motionless  and  unre- 
sponsive. 

Edith  had  gathered  her  skirts  in  one  hand, 
preparatory  to  alighting,  and  had  half  risen 
from  her  seat,  when  a  figure  darted  from 
the  nearby  shadows,  rushed  soundlessly  to  the 
automobile,  and  threw  open  the  tonneau 
door. 

Storm-clouds  had  gathered  with  the  evening, 
and  twilight  had  deepened  quickly  into  night. 
The  act  was  accomplished  so  rapidly  that  Edith 
was  aware  only  of  a  vague  shadow  flitting  in 
beside  Dorothy,  and  afterwards  closing  the  door 
again. 

Next  instant  a  rough  hand  thrust  her  uncere- 
moniously back  into  the  seat.  At  the  same  time 

24  [  369  ] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

she  was  sensible  of  a  painful  pressure  between 
her  shoulders. 

"  Do  you  feel  that? "  said  a  man's  subdued 
voice  at  her  ear.  "  It  is  the  muzzle  of  a  revolver. 
An  outcry  from  you,  young  lady,  will  mean 
instant  death." 

There  was  no  sound  from  Dorothy,  and  for 
some  inexplicable  reason  Edith  did  not  feel  in 
the  least  alarmed  —  not  even  astonished.  The 
hand  continued  to  bear  heavily  upon  her  shoulder. 

'  You  must  be  desperate,"  said  she  com- 
posedly, without  turning  her  head,  "  to  attack 
two  defenceless  women.  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  A  very  simple  favor;  one  that  you  may  easily 
grant,  without  other  loss  to  yourself  than  an 
hour  or  so's  time.  I  want  the  use  of  your  motor, 
and  I  want  you  to  derive  it  at  my  direction." 

The  curt,  menacing  earnestness  of  the  low- 
pitched  words  left  her  unmoved. 

"May  my  companion  alight?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,  I  guess  not,"  wras  the  insolent  response. 
"  It  is  her  company  that  I  particularly  desire. 
Come,  be  quick,  my  dear  young  lady." 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"  I  '11  count  ten  —  slowly.     Then  I  '11  shoot." 

[370] 


DOWN! 

The  girl  pondered  one  second,  then  expressed 
a  conviction. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  will  dare  do  it." 

"Don't  you?"  coolly.  "Very  well;  try  me. 
.  .  .  One!" 

Had  she  ever  heard  that  voice  before?  She 
thought  so,  but  could  not  be  sure.  Her  thoughts 
flew  with  lightning  rapidity  during  the  next  few 
seconds,  but  the  only  emotion  that  seemed  to 
stir  within  her  was  a  ridiculously  irresistible 
desire  to  laugh.  And  all  the  while  the  voice 
was  intoning  at  her  ear,  "  Two!  —  Three!  — 
Four!  —  "  slowly,  to  be  sure,  but  inexorably. 

It  all  at  once  flashed  into  her  mind  to  wonder 
where  Foster  Cole  was;  she  was  so  accustomed 
to  having  him  beside  her,  to  smooth  out  all  diffi- 
culties and  lead  her  out  of  all  predicaments,  that 
his  absence  now  was  like  a  great  aching  void. 

"  Five! " 

Come  to  think  of  it,  she  had  not  heard  from 
him  since  he  left  her  yesterday  morning;  that 
was  strange  —  in  the  circumstances,  unaccount- 
able. Surely,  nothing  could  have  happened  to 
him!  For  the  first  time  she  experienced  a  qualm 
of  fear,  a  dizzy  sinking  sensation  of  the  heart. 

[371] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

"Foster!  Foster!  Foster!"  a  voice  within  her 
wildly  cried,.  How  much  longer  could  she  en- 
dure the  muzzle  of  that  frightful  pistol  boring 
into  her  back?  Not  long,  because  he  would  fire 
soon.  What  did  this  truculent  highwayman 
mean?  —  was  he  merely  insane?  Foster  could 
make  short  work  — 

"  Six! " 

She  glanced  anxiously  along  the  street;  but 
it  was  empty. 

"  Seven! " 

Her  ears  strained  to  catch  any  sound  behind 
her;  but  no  one  was  approaching  from  the  rear. 

"Eight!" 

Nothing  whatever  was  to  be  heard,  in  fact, 
except  the  clang  and  roar  of  a  trolley  in  a  dis- 
tant street,  the  man's  bated  breathing  between 
counts,  and  the  purring  of  the  engine's  six 
cylinders.  But  her  excited  senses  all  of  a  sud- 
den caught  a  subtle  change  in  the  voice,  still 
relentlessly  marking  off  the  deadly  reckoning, 
as  if  the  man  were  nerving  himself  for  the  final 
bloody  act.  .  .  .  He  must  indeed  be  desperate. 
.  .  .  Poor  Dolly!  She  must  have  fain  — 

"  Nine! " 

[372] 


DOWN ! 

And  then,  just  as  the  ultimate  number  trembled 
on  the  man's  lips,  the  girl  was  suddenly  filled 
with  a  blind,  unreasoning  anger. 

'  Very  well,"  —  her  teeth  were  clenched,  — 
"  shoot." 

Straightway  she  gathered  herself  to  send  forth 
a  cry  for  help  before  the  bullet  could  render  her 
powerless.  But  instantly  the  long  sinewy  fingers 
of  two  hands  closed,  around  her  throat,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  choke  and  shake  her  into  insensibility. 

•r 

"  Curse  you!  "  the  voice  hissed.  "  I  '11  be  my 
own  chauffeur,  .  .  .  Take  that,  you  little  devil !  " 

Now  the  girl  was  terrified  in  all  conscience. 
Not  until  the  fingers  touched  her  throat  did  she 
realize  the  utter  recklessness  of  the  attack  or  the 
inconceivable  audacity  of  her  assailant.  The  bold- 
ness with  which  he  disregarded  the  chances  of 
possible  interruption,  of  certain  retribution,  was 
astounding.  She  was  helpless,  however,  in  that 
awful  grasp  —  suffocating,  half  wild  with  fright. 

'  Will  you  do  as  I  say?  "  demanded  the  voice, 
the  pressure  on  her  throat  relaxing  somewhat. 
"Drive  straight  ahead  at  top  speed;  turn  as  I 
tell  you  to,  stop  at  my  command,  and  you  shall 
come  to  no  harm.  At  the  first  sign  of  trickery  — 

[373] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

if  you  try  to  let  out  another  yell  —  why,  I  '11  fin- 
ish the  job.  Speak  up!  " 

She  all  but  collapsed.  Next  she  was  so  roughly 
thrust  aside  that  she  nearly  fell  to  the  street,  but 
she  dimly  knew  that  the  man  was  clambering 
across  to  the  driver's  seat.  One  leg  was  over  the 
back-rest  when,  without  the  slightest  warning,  an 
interruption  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

Now,  as  it  happened,  Dorothy  had  not  fainted. 
The  instant  the  man's  face  appeared  at  the  side 
of  the  automobile  she  bent  one  wild  look  upon 
him,  and  at  once  turned  deathly  pale,  cringing 
away  from  him  as  far  as  the  confines  of  the 
tonneau  would  permit,  where  she  sat  speechless 
with  terror. 

And  thus  she  remained,  staring  at  the  intruder 
with  fixed,  unseeing  eyes,  until  he  started  to 
swarm  over  to  the  front.  The  movement  seemed 
to  break  the  spell  that  held  her  enchained. 
With  startling  abruptness,  her  frenzied,  piercing 
screams  burst  forth  and  rang  shuddering  through 
the  still  night. 

All  along  the  street  doors  opened,  and  windows 
were  thrown  up  with  a  crash.  And  now,  some- 
where off  in  the  darkness,  could  be  heard  the 

[374] 


DOWN! 

flutter  of  an  approaching  automobile,  coming  at 
a  pace  that  must  soon  bring  it  upon  the  scene. 

There  was  an  oath  and  a  muttered  malediction 
from  the  man  in  the  automobile.  He  tried  to 
jump  from  his  insecure  position  astride  the  back- 
rest to  the  walk;  a  reckless  feat  to  attempt,  for 
he  landed  on  hands  and  knees  with  a  force  that 
wrung  from  him  a  cry  of  pain.  One  arm  doubled 
under  him  with  a  sickening,  crunching  sound. 
After  one  vain  effort  to  rise,  he  groaned  and  sank 
back  to  the  walk. 


[375] 


CHAPTER   XXV 

AND   OUT 

AT  nightfall,  worn  out  in  both  mind  and  body, 
taciturn  and  dispirited,  Cole  and  Flint  re- 
turned from  an  ineffectual  search  for  the  missing 
bride.  Cole  had  pressed  into  service  Gibbs's 
touring-car,  and  it  too  seemed  tired. 

They  had  called  at  every  house  along  the 
highway  and  had  penetrated  every  by-way,  but 
never  a  trace  of  Dorothy  did  they  find;  and  at 
last  even  Flint's  assurance  became  shaken.  To 
have  Cantarini  slip  so  easily  out  of  their  very 
grasp  had  been  bad  enough,  but  complete  failure 
of  their  subsequent  efforts  had  beaten  Cole  down 
under  a  keen  sense  of  defeat  and  a  profound  feel- 
ing of  discouragement. 

On  the  way  home  Flint  finally  told  of  Kelsey's 
tragic  death  and  Miss  Gervaise's  mystifying 
flight,  his  hearer  lethargic  until  Edith's  name  was 
mentioned;  then  the  effect  of  this  disclosure  sur- 
prised the  detective  not  a  little.  Cole  jumped,  as 

[3761 


AND   OUT 

it  were,  back  to  life.  Leaning  forward,  he  gave 
the  chauffeur  the  Gervaise  number.  "  Go  like 
the  devil ! "  he  tersely  commanded. 

The  young  fellow  obeyed. 
'  What  do  you  mean?  "  demanded  Flint. 

"  It 's  an  easy  one,"  was  the  dry  response. 
"  Miss  Gervaise  has  heard  news  of  Miss  Day." 

Flint  marvelled  in  silence:  the  possibility  had 
not  occurred  to  him. 

Of  course,  they  did  not  find  Edith  at  home ;  but 
without  a  second's  hesitation,  Cole  reentered  the 
tonneau,  directing  the  driver  to  hasten  to  Miss 
Day's. 

It  was  while  the  speeding  motor  was  entering 
the  block  in  which  her  residence  was  situated  that 
the  two  men  were  startled  and  thrilled  by  Dor- 
othy's prolonged  scream.  The  chauffeur  needed 
no  other  urging.  He  shot  forward  the  sparker, 
and  the  big  machine  fairly  leaped  over  the  inter- 
vening distance. 

Cole  was  out  on  the  walk  before  the  motor 
stopped  just  behind  the  other.  He  stooped  over 
the  prostrate  figure,  only  to  recoil  immediately 
with  a  smothered  ejaculation  of  sheer  amazement. 

"  Cantanni! " 

[377] 


THE   YELLOW  CIRCLE 

At  once,  however,  Flint  shouldered  him  aside. 
His  more  comprehensive  glance  had  descried  the 
fact  that  the  man  was  disabled,  and  he  wanted  to 
forestall  any  possible  rash  act  on  the  part  of  Cole 
which  the  young  man  would  surely  repent  of 
afterwards. 

"  He  's  wounded,"  Flint  curtly  announced ; 
"  I  '11  take  care  of  him;  look  after  the  ladies." 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  Gibbs's  automobile 
returned  to  Miss  Day's  bearing  its  overjoyed 
owner,  he  was  greeted  in  the  rear  drawing-room 
not  only  by  the  mistress  of  the  house  herself,  but 
there  were  present  besides  Cole,  Phineas  Flint, 
Miss  Gervaise,  Sarah  Kemp,  and  a  remarkable 
looking  black-avised  man  whom  Mr.  Gibbs  had 
never  seen  before. 

If  Dorothy  had  been  apprehensive  over  the 
probable  manner  of  her  lover's  greeting,  her 
doubts  were  soon  set  at  rest.  Utterly  disregard- 
ful  of  his  audience,  Gibbs  hastened  to  her. 

"Dorothy!"  he  cried,  a  low,  vibrating  echo 
of  the  days  and  nights  of  wretched  suspense;  an 
assurance  that  his  devotion  remained  unchanged, 
unquestioning.  As  their  hands  met  in  a  trembling 
clasp,  her  eyes  grew  hazy. 

[378] 


AND  OUT 

"  My  dear!  "  she  whispered.    "  My  dear! " 

For  a  long  moment  each  pair  of  eyes  drank 
thirstily  from  the  depths  before  them.  The  man's 
features  were  working  with  emotion;  but,  un- 
demonstrative by  nature,  he  contented  himself 
with  that  pregnant  handclasp  and  an  avowal 
which  reached  no  other  ears  than  Dorothy's.  It 
made  her  eyes  shine  like  sapphire  stars.  They 
hung  upon  his  fervid  look  as  he  turned  to  the 
others;  her  smaller  hands,  reluctant  to  leave  the 
strong  grasp  that  enveloped  them,  lingered  in 
his. 

The  story  was  soon  told.  It  harked  back  to 
Dorothy's  school  days,  when  she  and  Alessandro 
Cantarini  —  the  son  of  a  wealthy  Italian  mer- 
chant, residing  in  Nagasaki,  who  had  married  a 
native  Japanese  lady  —  had  been  classmates  in 
an  obscure  college  in  California. 

The  traditions  of  the  little  college  (a  sectarian 
affair)  would,  not  tolerate  fraternities,  and,  un- 
suspected by  a  trusting  faculty,  Cantarini  or- 
ganized a  secret  society  known  among  the 
students  as  "  The  Golden  Circle."  It  was  the 
depiction  by  Leporello  of  her  initiation  into  this 
(then)  innocent  association  that  had  so  agitated 

[379] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

Dorothy  on  the  occasion  of  her  visit  with  Edith 
to  the  seer. 

The  girl  had  always  felt  the  influence  of  Can- 
tarini's  magnetic  personality ;  yet  even  her  unso- 
phisticated mind  had  noted,  without  identifying, 
the  sinister  power  that  lay  behind  the  man's  at- 
traction. When  he  proposed  marriage,  her  dis- 
like grew  to  loathing  and  fear. 

Her  father,  however,  had  come  under  Can- 
tarini's  influence;  he  favored  the  marriage,  and 
had  been  angered  at  her  refusal  to  comply  with 
his  wishes. 

Then  for  a  time  Cantarini  disappeared.  His 
father  failed  in  business,  and  the  young  man  was 
thrown  upon  his  own  resources,  far  from  home 
and  with  no  means  of  getting  there.  It  was  now 
that  the  unscrupulous  elements  of  his  nature  as- 
serted themselves.  Meeting  Miss  Letitia  Leon- 
ard, he  worked  upon  her  susceptible  mind  until 
he  persuaded  her  to  join  the  Circle.  He  exerted 
his  authority  as  Master  to  wring  from  her  a  dis- 
torted account  of  the  family  secret.  Armed  with 
this,  he  reappeared  before  Dorothy  and  her 
father,  and  tried  to  force  her  into  a  marriage. 

Meantime  Chauncey  Day  had  made  his  will. 

[380] 


AND   OUT 

He  had  bestowed  upon  Cantarini  the  affec- 
tion which  would  have  been  lavished  upon  the 
son  which  he  lacked.  Hence,  if  Dorothy  was 
not  married  before  her  twenty-fourth  birthday 
the  Day  fortune  was  to  go  absolutely  to  Can- 
tarini. 

But  Cantarini's  threat  to  expose  the  family 
secret  put  a  new  complexion  upon  his  attitude. 
Day's  eyes  were  opened  to  his  true  nature;  he 
bitterly  regretted  the  will,  declaring  his  intention 
of  destroying  it  as  soon  as  he  could  reach  his  San 
Francisco  office. 

Next  morning  Day  was  discovered  dead  in  his 
desk-chair  and  the  safe  door  open.  The  manner 
of  his  death  remained  a  mystery;  it  was  never 
satisfactorily  explained;  and  as  Dorothy  knew 
nothing  of  the  will,  no  other  reason  existed  for 
suspecting  Cantarini  than  the  fact  that  he  too  dis- 
appeared at  this  time  —  for  ever,  Dorothy  sin- 
cerely and  fervently  hoped. 

On  her  father's  death,  his  estate  passed  to  her, 
as  the  sole  heir,  by  mere  operation  of  law.  But 
Cantarini's  reflections  upon  her  birth  had  raised 
bitter  doubts  in  her  mind,  and  she  sought  for 
other  heirs  who  might  have  a  stronger  claim  to 

[3811 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

the  property  than  she  herself  had.  None  were 
found. 

It  was  then  that  the  girl  resolved  to  sever  old 
relations  and  to  break  off  associations  that  were 
bitterly  painful.  Also  she  wanted  to  obviate  any 
chance  of  Cantarini  ever  finding  her  again.  So 
she  selected  the  birth-place  of  her  old  nurse  as 
a  refuge,  and  together  the  two  journeyed  to 
Williamsburg. 

Meantime,  to  Cantarini  in  Cuba  occurred  the 
possibilities  of  the  Golden  Circle  as  a  means  to 
further  his  own  selfish  and  unprincipled  ends. 
The  innoxious  college  society  afforded  the  nu- 
cleus of  a  great  and  potent  criminal  machine. 
He  developed  the  idea,  and  with  the  aid 
of  recruits  gained  among  his  fellow  soldiers, 
the  scheme  to  escape  was  successfully  carried 
out. 

Lieutenant  Cole  occasionally  received  a  Wil- 
liamsburg newspaper,  and  one  of  these  contain- 
ing Dorothy's  name  happened  to  fall  into  Can- 
tarini's  hands,  and  at  once  the  scheme  to  secure 
her  patrimony  began  to  form  in  his  fertile  brain. 
It  was  an  account  of  his  death  that  had  impelled 
Dorothy  to  risk  the  privations  and  perils  of  war 

[382] 


AND  OUT 

time,  and  by  journeying  to  Cuba,  to  satisfy  Her- 
self that  her  evil  genius  was  forever  laid. 

"  It  was  through  you,  Lecomte,  that  he  worked 
upon  my  feelings,"  Miss  Day  bitterly  declared. 
"  He  held  that  odious  Circle  over  my  head,  dem- 
onstrated its  evil  power,  and  I  was  desperate  — 
distracted  —  frantic.  I  feared  for  your  life,  not 
mine.  When  I  understood  into  what  a  hideous 
machine  of  crime  that  harmless  school  so- 
ciety had  grown,  I  knew  not  what  frightful  ca- 
lamity I  might  precipitate  upon  you  by  one  false 
move." 

For  weeks  she  had  been  finding  threatening 
notes  in  her  very  house  —  on  her  dressing  table, 
on  her  pillow  even  —  and  all  were  of  a  nature  to 
inspire  her  with  terror ;  all  were  aimed  at  delaying 
her  marriage. 

Long  ago  she  had  freed  herself  of  the  Circle's 
odious  badge,  the  gold  band  around  her  arm.  She 
had  thought  it  safely  hidden  in  the  reliquary, 
which  Miss  Letitia  must  doubtless  have  passed 
to  Kelsey,  and  when  it  was  thrust  into  her  hand 
at  the  church  and  a  whisper  pronounced  at  her 
ear  what  she  believed  to  be  the  death-sentence  of 
the  man  she  loved,  her  reason  tottered  and  fell. 

[383] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

She  ran  blindly  to  shriek  a  warning,  but  was  in- 
tercepted at  the  curtained  passage. 

Higdon's  interference  appeared  in  its  true 
light.  No  sooner  had  she  been  delivered  into  his 
care,  than  he  assured  her  of  his  protection.  Pro- 
testing that  it  was  dangerous  for  her  to  return  to 
the  city  until  he  could  communicate  with  Gibbs, 
he  promised  to  take  her  to  a  safe  place  where  she 
could  remain  until  he  succeeded  in  notifying  his 
employer.  While  he  was  gone  after  his  horse 
and  buggy,  stabled  in  a  nearby  shed,  she  had  torn 
from  an  undergarment  the  strip  Cole  had  found 
fluttering  from  the  cell  window. 

"A  forefinger  was  the  pen,"  she  announced; 
"  one  of  the  rusty  window  bars,  after  I  had  moist- 
ened it,  supplied  the  ink." 

"Rust!"  exclaimed  Flint,  with  an  embar- 
rassed laugh.  Foster  Cole  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

;'  We  must  have  ridden  all  night,"  Miss  Day 
continued.  "  He  left  me  at  last  in  an  empty, 
tumble-down  hovel  on  the  edge  of  a  wood,  promis- 
ing to  return  as  soon  as  he  could  do  so  with  safety, 
with  food  and  a  change  of  clothing.  I  was  ear- 
nestly charged  not  to  stir  from  my  hiding-place 

[384] 


AND   OUT 

until  he  came  back.  I  don't  know  whether  he 
came  —  doubtless  not  —  or  how  long  I  remained 
in  that  horrid  hut ;  I  recall  only  that  it  was  night, 
and  again  that  the  sun  beat  down  pitilessly.  .  .  . 
And  next  I  was  lying  on  a  bed,  looking  up  into 
Edith's  eyes." 

However,  the  surprise  of  the  evening  came 
from  Sarah  Kemp.  Dorothy  was  clasped  tightly 
in  her  arms,  and  the  gaunt  old  lady  turned  from 
one  to  another  of  the  company  with  a  gleam  of 
defiant  pride  and  affection  sparkling  in  her  deep- 
set  eyes,  which  held  the  attention  of  everybody 
present.  Even  Cantarini  watched  her  furtively. 

"  Gentlemen  "  —  her  voice  was  deep  and  harsh 
—  "  one  of  the  worst  things  about  this  whole  busi- 
ness is  what  has  been  said  and  hinted  about  Dor- 
othy's birth.  All  those  stories  are  as  false  as 
hell!" 

Cole  was  impelled  to  glance  at  Gibbs,  whose 
look  supplied  whatever  information  the  younger 
man  may  have  desired  respecting  the  anonymous 
letter.  Sarah  did  not  pause : 

"  When  I  was  a  girl  I  nursed  Kathie  Leonard, 
before  she  ever  heard  of  Chauncey  Day  or  thought 
of  being  his  wife.  She  felt  —  poor  soul!  —  that 

85  [385] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

her  husband  was  drifting  away  from  her  because 
they  were  childless,  and  when  Bill  Kemp  left  me 
penniless  in  a  little  one-horse  Sierra  mining-camp, 
with  nothing  but  a  week-old  baby,  why,  Kathie  — 
God  bless  her !  —  took  us  into  her  home  —  took 
my  baby  as  her  own.  It  was  an  easy  thing  to 
do,  for  Chauncey  Day  was  away  on  his  prospect- 
ing trips  for  months  at  a  time.  Before  she  died 
Katharine  Day  whispered  the  secret  to  him.  It 
made  a  hard  and  bitter  man  of  him  —  for  a  while ; 
but  as  the  years  passed  he  grew  to  love  the  child 
for  her  own  sake  —  as  if  anybody  could  help  it! 
—  and  raised  her  as  his  very  own  daughter." 

Of  a  sudden  she  levelled  a  grimly  accusing 
finger  at  Cantarini,  who  uneasily  shifted  his 
position. 

"  That  dog,"  went  on  Sarah,  with  deep-stirring 
anger,  "  that  white-livered  cur  there  —  look  at 
him,  everybody  —  got  hold  of  some  crooked 
story  that  there  was  something  wrong  with  my 
Dorothy's  birth.  Where  he  got  it  the  devil, 
his  master,  only  knows.  When  Chauncey 
Day  died  I  had  to  tell  my  precious  lamb  the 
truth. 

"  Hear  me,"  —  once  more  her  look  reflected 

[386] 


AND  OUT 

defiance,  —  "  my  Dorothy  is  as  honestly  born  as 
any  of  you.  I  know;  I  am  her  mother." 

For  a  moment  her  burning  eyes  swept  the 
group,  as  if  she  half -expected  her  statement  to 
be  challenged.  And  then  Gibbs  performed  the 
most  graceful  deed  of  his  life ;  he  advanced,  and, 
taking  one  of  the  gnarled  hands  in  one  of  his, 
bent  low  over  it.  But  Sarah  jerked  hers  away. 

"  No,"  she  checked  the  gallant  act,  sternly  and 
yet  not  unkindly.  "  I  am  her  mother  only  for 
to-night.  Our  lives  have  been  lived  different, 
and  I  won't  have  them  changed  now.  Where 
my  own  precious  girl  has  failed,  Mr.  Gibbs,  it 
is  n't  likely  that  you  can  move  me;  so  I  '11  just 
keep  my  old  place." 

Persuasion  encountered  an  impregnable  wall. 
All  arguments  based  on  duty  and  the  wishes  of 
others  left  the  old  lady  inflexible. 

Cantarini's  fractured  arm  impelled  Gibbs  to 
proffer  the  use  of  his  automobile  for  the  pur- 
pose of  conveying  the  prisoner  to  jail  —  which 
he  did  with  a  certain  satisfaction,  as  he  reflected 
on  its  speed. 

The  man  arose  instantly  at  the  summons.  For 
a  moment  something  of  his  old  air  of  arrogant 

[387] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

superiority  manifested  itself.  He  squared  his 
shoulders,  his  lips  twisted  into  a  half-smile  — 
enigmatic,  mirthless  as  always  —  and  the  odd, 
ill-mated  eyes  swept  the  company. 

In  that  instant,  an  instant  of  death-like  si- 
lence, he  knew  that  he  was  condemned.  Each 
direction  he  turned,  the  regard  that  met  his  was 
hard,  stern,  and  without  pity;  he  knew  that  it 
meant  a  judgment  from  which  there  was  no 
appeal. 

With  an  assumed  air  of  jauntiness  he  bowed 
to  the  detective. 

"May  I  smoke?"  he  inquired. 

Flint,  anxious  to  leave,  nodded  a  thoughtless 
acquiescence. 

"  Careful! "  warned  Cole,  starting  to  his  feet. 

Too  late!  Flint's  hand  darted  out  to  inter- 
cept the  cigar,  but  Cantarini  already  had  it  be- 
tween his  lips,  and  when  Flint  dashed  it  to  the 
floor  it  had  been  bitten  in  two. 

A  laugh  of  bitter  mockery  rang  out,  and  Mr. 
Gibbs  hastily  conducted  the  ladies  from  the  room. 

Aconitine  acts  swiftly  as  well  as  surely,  but 
leaves  the  brain  clear  to  the  end.  At  last  —  just 

[388] 


AND   OUT 

before  the  ultimate  paralysis  rendered  the  man 
helpless  —  his  dilated  pupils  were  turned  upon 
Cole  and  the  white  teeth  glistened  in  a  final 
sardonic  smile. 

"  You  Ve  won,"  he  breathed. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  Cole's  premonition 
was  realized. 

Sometime  later,  after  all  signs  of  the  even- 
ing's stress  and  turbulence  had  been  removed, 
and  before  the  company  broke  up,  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  Lecomte  Gibbs  and  Dorothy  were 
to  be  married  at  once  —  as  soon  as  Dr.  Floyd 
could  be  communicated  with  —  and  then  depart 
immediately  for  a  long  sojourn  abroad.  So, 
after  all,  Dorothy  Day  was  married  before  her 
twenty-fourth  birthday. 

While  the  various  individuals  were  moving 
from  the  room,  Edith  contrived  to  detain  Fos- 
ter Cole  in  the  rear.  The  door  closed  and 
they  were  alone  together.  She  turned  to  him 
with  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  made  his  pulse 
leap. 

"  Foster,"  she  began  brokenly,  "  you  might 
never  have  escaped  from  that  horrid  place." 

[389] 


THE  YELLOW  CIRCLE 

'  You  must  blame  my  friend,  Phineas  Flint, 
for  that." 

"  Can't  you  ever  be  serious?  "  she  cried.  There 
was  a  catch  in  her  voice,  and  she  pressed  a  hand 
to  her  throat.  "  Foster,  if  you  had  n't  - 

But  just  then  the  door  opened  a  few  inches 
and  Mr.  Gibbs  thrust  his  beaming  countenance 
through  the  aperture. 

"  Fix  it  up,  you  two,"  said  he,  with  provoking 
bluntness;  "  I  can  then  make  a  wise  distribution 
of  the  reward.  I  '11  stand  for  a  year's  honey- 
moon in  Europe,  and  Dorothy  and  I  will  meet 
you  in  Venice." 

"  Wretch! "  Edith  flashed  at  him  as  the  door 
banged  upon  his  delighted  chuckle. 

''  Well?  "  said  Cole,  hiding  his  eagerness  only 
indifferently;  "  if  I  had  n't  —  ?  " 

All  at  once,  with  a  glad  little  cry,  she  was 
nestling  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Foster,  if  you  had  n't  escaped  it  would 
have  killed  me!  I  know  —  now  —  that  I  love 
you;  that  I  have  loved  you  always." 

He  stood  speechless  with  sheer  joy,  clasping 
her  tightly  to  him.  His  head  drooped  forward; 
his  face  was  buried  in  her  sunny  tresses.  She 

[390] 


AND  OUT 

felt  him  trembling.  And  then  her  arms  stole 
around  his  neck,  and,  with  lowered  lashes,  her 
face  turned  up  to  his,  she  whispered,  —  tear- 
fully, but  she  was  laughing,  too,  — 

"  It  would  be  hard  —  I  don't  believe  I  could 
endure  it  —  to  go  on  living  for  ever  and  ever 
without  your  nonsense.  .  .  . 

"Silly  boy!  .  .  .  not  again;  somebody's 
coming.  .  .  . 

"Well  — there!  .     ." 


THE  END 


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Indifference  of  Juliet,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Infelice.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Will- 
iamson. 

Lady  of  the  Mount,  The.    By  Frederic  S.  I  sham. 
Lane  That  Had  No  Turning,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 
Langford  of  the  Three  Bars.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 
Last  Trail,  The.     By  Zane  Grey. 
Leavenworth  Case,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 
Lilac  Sunbonnet,  The.    By  S.  R.  Crockett. 
Lin  McLean.    By  Owen  Wister. 
Long  Night,  The.     By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 
Maid  at  Arms,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


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Man  from  Red  Keg,  The.     By  Eugene  Thwing. 

Marthon  Mystery,  The.    By  Burton  Egbert  Stevenson. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Millionaire  Baby,  The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Missourian,  The.    By  Eugene  P.  Lyle,  Jr. 

Mr.  Barnes,  American.    By  A.  C.  Gunter. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

My  Lady  of  the  North.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  of  June  13th.    By  Melvin  L.  Severy. 

Mystery  Tales.     By  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Nancy  Stair.     By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane. 

Order  No.  11.    By  Caroline  Abbot  Stanley. 

Pam.    By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Pam  Decides.    By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.  •  By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Phra  the  Phoenician.     By  Edwin  Lester  Arnold. 

President,  The.    By  Afred  Henry  Lewis. 

Princess  Passes,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Prisoners.    By  Mary  Cholmondeley. 

Private  War,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Prodigal  Son,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 

Quickening,  The.    By  Francis  Lynde. 

'Richard  the  Brazen.    By  Cyrus  T.  Brady  and  Edw.  Peple. 
Rose  of  the  World.     By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 
Running  Water.    By  A.  E.  W.  Mason. 
Sarita  the  Carlist.     By  Arthur  W.  Marchmont. 
Seats  of  the  Mighty,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 
Sir  Nigel.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Sir  Richard  Calmady.     By  Lucas  Malet. 
Speckled  Bird,  A.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 


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Purple  Parasol,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 
Princess  Dehra,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 
Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.    By  George  Randolph 
Chester. 

Last  Voyage  of  the  Donna  Isabel,  The.    By  Randall 

Parrish. 

Bronze  Bell,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 
Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Four  Million,  The.    By  O.  Henry. 
Idols.    By  William  J.  Locke. 
Wayfarers,  The.    By  Mary  Stewart  Cutting. 
Held  for  Orders.    By  Frank  H.  Spearman. 
Story  of  the  Outlaw,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 
Mistress  of  Brae  Farm,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Explorer,  The.    By  William  Somerset  Maugham. 
Abbess  of  Vlaye,  The.    By  Stanley  Weyman. 
Alton  of  Somasco.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Ancient  Law,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Barrier,  The,    By  Rex  Beach. 
Bar  20.    By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
Beloved  Vagabond,  The.    By  William  J.  Locke. 
Beulah.    (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Chaperon,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Colonel  Greatheart.    By  H.  C.  Bailey. 
Dissolving  Circle,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 
Elusive  Isabel.    By  Jacques  Futrelle. 
Fair  Moon  of  Bath,  The.    By  Elizabeth  Ellis. 
54-40  or  Fight.    By  Emerson  Hough. 


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Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Spoilers,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Squire  Phin.     By  Holman  F.  Day. 

Stooping  Lady,  The.       By  Maurice  Hewlett. 

Subjection  of  Isabel  Carnaby.  By  Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler. 

Sunset  Trail,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Sword  of  the  Old  Frontier,  A.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Throwback,  The.    By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Trail  of  the  Sword,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Two  Vanrevels,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Up  From  Slavery.    By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Vashti.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Viper  of  Milan,  The  (original  edition).    By  Marjorie  Bowen. 

Voice  of  the  People,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Wheel  of  Life,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

When  Wilderness  Was  King.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Where  the  Trail  Divides.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Woman  in  Grey,  A.    By  Mrs.  C.  N.  Williamson. 

Woman  in  the  Alcove,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Younger  Set,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

The  Weavers.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

The  Little  Brown  Jug  at  Kildare.    By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

The  Prisoners  of  Chance.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  Cleve.    By  Percy  J.  Hartley. 

Loaded  Dice.    By  Ellery  H.  Clark. 

Get  Rich  Quick  Wallingford.    By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

The  Orphan.    By  Clarence  Mulford. 

A  Gentleman  of  France,    By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 


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Four  Pool's  Mystery,  The.    By  Jean  Webster. 

Canton  and  Co.    By  Arthur  J.  Eddy. 

Heart  of  Jessy  Laurie,  The.    By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 

Inez.    (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Into  the  Primitive.    By  Robert  Ames  Bennet. 

Katrina.    By  Roy  Rolfe  Gilson. 

King  Spruce.    By  Holman  Day. 

Macaria.    (Illustrated  Edition.)   By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Meryl.    By  Wm.  Tillinghast  Eldredge. 

Old,  Old  Story,  The.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Carey. 

Quest  Eternal,  The.    By  Will  Lillibridge. 

Silver  Blade,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

St.  Elmo.  (Illustrated  Edition.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Uncle  William.    By  Jennette  Lee. 

Under  the  Red  Robe.    By  Stanley  J.  Weyman. 


GOOD  FICTION  WORTH  READING 

A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favor- 
ites in  the  field  of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful 
romances  of  love  and  diplomacy  that  excel  in  thrilling  and 
absorbing  interest. 

ROB  OF  THE  BOWL.  A  Story  of  the  Early  Days  of 
Maryland.  By  John  P.  Kennedy.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page 
illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

This  story_  Js  an  authentic  exposition  of  the  manners  and  customs  dur- 
ing Lord  Baltimore's  rule.  The  greater  portion  of  the  action  takes  place 
in  St.  Mary's — the  original  capital  of  the  State. 

The  quaint  character  of  Rob,  the  loss  o_f  whose  legs  was  supplied  by  a 
wooden  bowl  strapped  to  his  thighs,  his  misfortunes  and  mother  wit,  far 
outshine  those  fair  to  look  upon.  Pirates  and  smugglers  did  Rob  consort 
with  for  gain,  and  it  was  to  him  that  Blanche  Werden  owed  her  life  and 
her  happiness,  as  the  author  has  told  us  in  such  an  enchanting  manner. 

As  a  series  of  pictures  of  early  colonial  life  in  Maryland,  "Rob  of  the 
Bowl"  has  no  equal.  The  story  is  full  of  splendid  action,  with  a  charming 
love  story,  and  a  plot  that  never  looserta  the  grip  of  its  interest  to  its  last 
page. 

TICONDEROGA.  A  Story  of  Early  Frontier  Life  in  the 
Mohawk  Valley.  By  G.  P.  R.  James.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four 
page  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

The  setting  of  the  story  is  decidedly  more  picturesque  than  any  ever 
evolved  by  Cooper.  The  story  is  located  on  the  frontier  of  New  York 
State.  The  principal  characters  in  the  story  include  an  English  gentleman, 
his  beautiful  daughter,  Lord  Howe,  and  certain  Indian  sachems  belonging* 
to  the  Five  Nations,  and  the  story  ends  with  the  Battle  of  Ticonderoga. 

The  character  of  Captain  Brooks,  who  voluntarily  decides  to  sa-.rifice 
his  own  life  in  order  to  save  the  son  of  the  Englishman,  is  not  among  the 
least  of  the  attractions  of  this  story,  which  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader 
even  to  the  last  page. 

Interwoven  with  the  plot  is  the  Indian  "blood"  law,  which  demands  a 
life  for  a  life,  whether  it  be  that  of  the  murderer  or  one  of  his  race.  A 
more  charming  story  of  mingled  love  and  adventure  has  never  been  written 
than  "Ticonderoga. 

MARY  DERWENT.  A  tale  of  the  Wyoming  Valley  in 
1778.  By  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens.  Coth,  12mo.  Four  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

The  scene  of  this  fascinating  story  of  early  frontier  life  is  laid  in  the 
Valley  of  Wyoming.  Aside  from  Mary  Derwent,  who  is  of  course  the 
heroine,  the  story  deals  with  Queen  Esther's  son^  Giengwatah,  the  Butlers 
of  notorious  memory,  and  the  adventures  of  the  Colonists  with  the  Indians. 

Though  much  is  made  of  the  Massacre  of  Wyoming,  a  great  portion 
of  the  tale  describes  the  love  making  between  Mary  Derwent's  sister,  Walter 
Butler,  and  one  of  the  defenders  of  Forty  Fort. 

This  historical  nov«l  stands  out  bright  and  pleasing,  because  of  the 
mystery  and  notoriety  of  several  of  the  actors,  the  tender  love  scenes, 
descriptions  of  the  different  localities,  and  the  struggles  of  the  settlers. 
It  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader  even  to  the  last  page. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of 

B-ioe   by   the   publishers,   A.   L.   BURX   COMPANY,  52-SS 
uane  St.,  New  York. 


Good  Fiction  Worth  Reading. 

A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  ra+orites  in  the  field 
of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful  romances  of  love  and  diplomacy 
that  excel  in  thrilling  and  absorbing  interest. 


WINDSOR  CASTLE.  A  Historical  Romance  of  the  ReJgnof  Henry  VIIT., 
Catharine  of  Aragon  and  Anne  Boleyn.  By  Wm.  Harrison  Ainsworth.  Cloth, 
»2ino.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  $1.00. 

"Windsor  Castle"  is  the  story  of  Henry  VIII.,  Catharine,  and  Anne 
Boleyn.  "Bluff  King  Hal,"  although  a  well-loved  monarch,  was  none  too 
good  a  one  In  many  ways.  Of  all  his  selfishness  and  unwarrantable  acts, 
none  was  more  discreditable  than  his  divorce  from  Catharine,  and  his  mar- 
riage to  the  beautiful  Anne  Boleyn.  The  King's  love  was  as  brief  as  it 
was  vehement.  Jane  Seymour,  waiting  maid  on  the  Queen,  attracted  him. 
and  Anne  Boleyn  was  forced  to  the  block  to  make  room  for  her  successor. 
ThU  romance  is  one  of  extreme  interest  to  all  readers. 

HORSESHOE  ROBINSON.  A  tale  of  the  Tory  Ascendency  in  South  Caro- 
lina in  1780.  By  John  P.  Kennedy.  Cloth,  I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J. 
Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

Among  the  old  favorites  in  tie  field  of  what  Is  known  as  historical  fic- 
tion, there  are  none  which  appeal  to  a  larger  number  of  Americans  than 
Horseshoe  Robinson,  and  this  because  it  is  the  only  story  which  depict* 
with  fidelity  to  the  facts  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  colonists  In  South  Caro- 
lina to  defend  their  homes  against  the  brutal  oppression  of  the  British 
under  such  leaders  as  Cornwallis  and  Tarleton. 

The  reader  is  charmed  with  the  story  of  love  which  forms  the  thread 
of  the  tale,  and  then  Impressed  with  the  wealth  of  detail  concerning  those 
time*.  The  picture  of  the  manifold  sufferings  of  the  people,  is  never  over- 
drawn, but  painted  faithfully  and  honestly  by  one  who  spared  neither 
time  nor  labor  in  his  efforts  to  present  in  this  charming  love  story  all  that 
price  In  blood  and  tears  which  the  Carolinians  paid  as  their  share  In  tha 
winning  of  the  republic. 

Take  It  all  in  all,  "Horseshoe  Robinson"  Is  a  work  which  should  be 
found  on  every  book-shelf,  not  only  because  it  is  a  most  entertaining 
story,  but  because  of  the  wealth  of  valuable  information  concerning  tha 
colonists  which  it  contains.  That  it  has  been  brought  out  once  more,  well 
Illustrated,  is  something  which  will  give  pleasure  to  thousands  who  hava 
long  desired  an  opportunity  to  read  the  story  again,  and  to  the  many  who 
have  tried  vainly  in  these  latter  days  to  procure  a  copy  that  they  might 
read  it  tor  the  first  time. 

THE  PEARL  OP  ORR'S  ISLAND.  A  story  of  the  Coast  of  Maine.  By 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  Cloth,  izmo.  Illustrated.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

Written  prior  to  1882,  the  "Pearl  of  Orr's  Island"  is  ever  new;  a  book 
filled  with  delicate  fancies,  such  as  seemingly  array  themselves  anew  each 
time  one  reads  them.  One  sees  the  "sea  like  an  unbroken  mirror  all 
around  the  pine-girt,  lonely  shores  of  Orr's  Island,"  and  straightway 
comes  "the  heavy,  hollow  moan  of  the  surf  on  the  beach,  like  the  wild 
angry  howl  of  some  savage  animal." 

Who  can  read  of  the  beginning  of  that  sweet  life,  named  Mara,  which 
came  into  this  world  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  Death  ansel's  wings, 
•without  having  an  intense  desire  to  know  how  the  premature  bud  blos- 
eomed?  Again  and  again  one  lingers  over  the  descriptions  of  the  char- 
acter of  that  baby  boy  Moses,  who  came  through  the  tempest,  amid  the 
angry  billows,  pillowed  on  his  dead  mother's  breast 

There  is  no  more  faithful  portrayal  of  New  Enpland  life  than  that 
Which  Mrs.  Stowe  gives  In  "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island." 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  pub* 
lisbers,  A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  52-58  Duaac  St.,  Nev»  York. 


Good  Fiction  Worth  Reading, 

A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favorites  In  the  field 
of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful  romances  of  love  and  diplomacy 
that  excel  in  thrilling  and  absorbing  interest. 


A  COLONIAL.  FREE-LANCE.  A  story  of  American  Colonial  Times.  By 
Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  lamo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

A  book  that  appeals  to  Americans  as  a  vivid  picture  of  Revolutionary 
scenes.  The  story  is  a  strong  one,  a  thrilling  one.  It  causes  the  true 
American  to  flush  with  excitement,  to  devour  chapter  after  chapter,  until 
the  eyes  smart,  and  it  fairly  smokes  with  patriotism.  The  love  story  la  a, 
singularly  charming  idyl. 

THE  TOWER  OF  LONDON.  A  Historical  Romance  of  the  Times  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey  and  Mary  Tudor.  By  Wm.  Harrison  Ainsworth.  Cloth,  izmo.  with 
four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  $1.00. 

This  romance  of  the  "Tower  of  London"  depicts  the  Tower  as  palace, 
prison  and  fortress,  with  many  historical  associations.  The  era  is  the 
middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  story  is  divided  into  two  parts,  one  dealing  with  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
and  the  other  with  Mary  Tudor  as  Queen,  introducing  other  notable  char- 
acters of  the  era.  Throughout  the  story  holds  the  interest  of  the  reader 
In  the  midst  of  intrigue  and  conspiracy,  extending  considerably  over  a 
half  a  century. 

IN  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  KING.  A  Romance  of  the  American  Revolution. 
By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  i2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  "Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  etched  in  burning  words  a  story  of  Yankee  bravery. 
•nd  true  love  that  thrills  from  beginning  to  end,  with  the  spirit  of  th» 
Revolution.  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  a 
part  In  the  exciting  scenes  described.  Hi«  whole  story  is  so  absorbing 
that  you  will  sit  up  far  into  the  night  to  finish  it.  As  a  lov«  romance 
it  is  charming. 

GARTHOWEN.  A  story  of  a  Welsh  Homestead.  By  Allen  Ralne.  Cloth, 
I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

"This  is  a  little  idyl  of  humble  life  and  enduring  love,  laid  bare  before 
us,  very  real  and  pure,  which  in  its  telling  shows  us  some  strong  points  of 
"Welsh  character—  the  pride,  the  hasty  temper,  the  quick  dying  out  of  wrath. 
...  We  call  this  a  well-written  story,  interesting  alike  through  it» 
romance  and  its  glimpses  into  another  life  than  ours.  A  delightful  and 
clever  picture  of  Welsh  village  life.  The  result  Is  excellent."—  Detroit  Fre« 


''    MIFANWY.     The  story  of  a  Welsh  Singer.      By  Allan  Raine.     Cloth, 
ismo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.    Price,  $1.00. 

"This  is  a  love  story,  simple,  tender  and  pretty  as  one  would  care  to 
read.  The  action  throughout  is  brisk  and  pleasing;  the  characters,  it  is  ap- 
parent at  once,  are  as  true  to  life  as  though  the  author  had  known  them 
all  personally.  Simple  in  all  its  situations,  the  story  is  worked  up  in  that 
touching  and  quaint  strain  which  never  grows  wearisome,  no  matter  how 
often  the  lights  and  shadows  of  love  are  introduced.  It  rings  true,  and 
does  not  tax  the  imagination."  —  Boston  Herald. 

For  »ale  1by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  pub- 
lishers, A.  L,  3URT  COMPANY,  52-58  Duane  St.,  New  York. 


GOOD  FICTION  WORTH  READING 

A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favor- 
ites in  the  field  of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful 
romances  of  love  and  diplomacy  that  excel  in  thrilling  and 
absorbing  interest. 


THE  LAST  TRAIL.  A  story  of  early  days  in  the  Ohio 
Valley.  By  Zane  Grey.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

"Th«  Last  Trail"  is  a  story  of  the  border.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Fort 
Henry,  where  Col.  Ebenezer  Zane  with  his  family  have  built  up  a  village 
despite  the  attacks  of  savages  and  renegades.  The  Colonel's  brother  and 
Wetzel,  known  as  Deathwind  by  the  Indians,  are  the  bordermen  who  devote 
their  lives  to  the  welfare  of  the  white  people.  A  splendid  love  story  runs 
through  the  book. 

That  Helen  Sheppard,  the  heroine,  should  fall  in  love  with  such  a 
brave,  skilful  scout  as  Jonathan  Zane  seems  only  reasonable  after  his  years 
of  association  and  defense  of  the  people  of  the  settlement  from  savages  and 
renegades. 

If  one  has  a  liking  for  stories  of  the  trail,  where  the  white  man  matches 
brains  against  savage  cunning,  for  tales  of  ambush  and  constant  striving  for 
the  mastery,  "The  Last  Trail"  will  be  greatly  to  his  liking. 

THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  HORSESHOE.  A  tradition- 
ary tale  of  the  Cocked  Hat  Gentry  in  the  Old  Dominion.  By 
Dr.  Wm.  A.  Caruthers.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

Many  will  hail  with  delight  the  re-publication  of  this  rare  and  justly 
famous  story  of  early  American  colonial  life  and  old-time  Virginian 
hospitality. 

Much  that  is  charmingly  interesting  will  be  found  in  this  tale  that  so 
faithfully  depicts  early  American  colonial  life,  and  also  here  is  found  all 
tke  details  of  the  founding  of  the  Tramontane  Order,  around  which  has 
ever  been  such  a  delicious  flavor  of  romance. 

Early  customs,  much  love  making,  plantation  life,  politics,  intrigues,  and 
finally  that  wonderful  march  across  the  mountains  which  resulted  in  the 
discovery  and  conquest  of  the  fair  Valley  of  Virginia.  A  rare  book  filled 
with  a  delicious  flavor  of  romance. 

BY  BERWEN  BANKS.  A  Romance  of  Welsh  Life.  By 
Allen  Raine.  Cloth,  12mo.  Four  page  illustrations  by  J. 
Watson  Davis.  Price  $1.00. 

It  is  a  tender  and  beautiful  romance  of  the  idyllic.  A  charming  picture 
Of  life  in  a  Wefsh  seaside  village.  It  is  something  of  a  prose-poem,  true, 
tender  and  graceful. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  publishers,  A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  52-58 
Duane  St.,  New  York, 


Good  Fiction  Worth  Reading. 

;  A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favorites  in  the  field 
of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful  romances  of  love  and  diplomacy 
that  excel  in  thrilling  and  absorbing  interest. 


GUY  PAWKES.  A  Romance  of  the  Gunpowder  Treason.  By  'Win.  HarrN 
sou  Ainswortk.  Cloth,  lamo.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikehank. 
Price,  $1.00. 

The  "Gunpowder  Plot"  was  a  modest  attempt  to  blow  up  Parliament, 
the  King  and  his  Counsellors.  James  of  Scotland,  then  King  of  England, 
•was  weak-minded  and  extravagant.  He  hit  upon  the  efficient  scheme  at 
extorting  money  from  the  people  by  imposing  taxes  on  the  Catholics.  In 
their  natural  resentment  to  this  extortion,  a  handful  of  bold  spirits  con- 
cluded to  overthrow  the  government.  Finally  the  plotters  were  arrested, 
and  the  King  put  to  torture  Guy  Fawkes  and  the  other  prisoners  with 
royal  vigor.  A.  very  intense  love  story  runs  through  the  entire  romance. 

THE  SPIRIT  OP  THE  BORDER.  A  Romance  of  the  Early  Settlers  in  the 
Ohio  Valley.  By  Zane  Grey.  Cloth.  12:110.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson, 
Davis.  Price,  Ji. oo. 

A  book  rather  out  of  the  ordinary  la  this  "Spirit  of  the  Border."  Th« 
main  thread  of  the  story  has  to  do  with  the  work  of  the  Moravian  mis- 
sionaries in  the  Ohio  Valley.  Incidentally  the  reader  is  given  details  of  th« 
frontier  life  of  those  hardy  pioneers  who  broke  the  wilderness  for  the  plant- 
ing of  this  great  nation.  Chief  among  these,  as  a  matter  of  course,  ia 
Lewis  Wetzel,  one  of  the  most  peculiar,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
admirable  of  all  the  brave  men  who  spent  their  lives  battling  with  th« 
savage  foe,  that  others  might  dwell  in  comparative  security. 

Details  of  the  establishment  and  destruction  of  the  Moravian  "Village 
cf  Peace"  are  given  at  some  length,  and  with  minute  description.  The 
efforts  to  Christianize  the  Indians  are  described  as  they  never  have  been 
l>efore,  and  the  author  has  depicted  the  characters  of  the  leaders  of  the 
several  Indian  tribes  with  great  care,  which  of  itself  will  be  of  interest  td 
the  student. 

By  no  means  least  among  the  charms  of  the  story  are  the  vivfd  word:— 
pictures  of  the  thrilling  adventures,  and  the  intense  paintings  of  the  beau- 
ties of  nature,  as  seen  in  the  almost  unbroken  forests. 

It  IB  the  spirit  of  the  frontier  which  is  described,  and  one  can  by  If. 
perhaps,  the  better  understand  why  men,  and  women,  too,  willingly  braved 
every  privation  and  danger  that  the  westward  progress  of  the  star  of  em- 
pire might  be  the  more  certain  and  rapid.  A  love  story,  simple  and  tender, 
runs  through  the  book. 

RICHELIEU.  A  tale  of  France  in  the  reign  of  King  I/juis  XHL  By  G.  P. 
H.  James.  Cloth,  12010.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $I.OOL 

In  1829  Mr.  James  published  his  first  romance,  "Richelieu,"  and  was 
recognized  at  once  as  one  of  the  masters  of  the  craft. 

In  this  book  he  laid  the  story  during  those  later  days  of  the  great  car- 
dinal's life,  when  his  power  was  beginning  to  wane,  but  while  it  was 
yet  sufficiently  strong  to  permit  now  and  then  of  volcanic  outbursts  which 
overwhelmed  foes  and  carried  friends  to  the  topmost  wave  of  prosperity. 
One  of  the  most  striking  portions  of  the  story  is  that  of  Cinq  Mar's  conspir- 
acy; the  method  of  conducting  criminal  cases,  and  the  political  trickery 
resorted  to  by  royal  favorites,  affording  a  better  insight  into  the  state- 
craft of  that  day  than  can  be  had  even  by  an  exhaustive  study  of  history. 
Jt  is  a  powerful  romance  of  love  and  diplomacy,  and  in  point  of  thrilling 
and  absorbing  interest  has  never  been  excelled. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  pub- 
lishers, A.  L,  BURT  COMPANY,  5«'58  Duane  St.,  New  York. 


Good  Fiction  Worth  Reading, 

A  series  of  romances  containing  several  of  the  old  favorites  in  the  field 
of  historical  fiction,  replete  with  powerful  romances  of  lovo  and  diplomacy 
that  excel  in  thrilling  and  absorbing  interest. 


D  ARNLE  Y.  A  Romance  of  the  times  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Cardinal  Wolsey. 
By  G.  P.  R.  James.  Cloth,  ismo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis. ' 
Price,  Ji.oo. 

In  point  of  publication,  "Darnley"  19  that  work  by  Mr.  James  which 
follows  "Richelieu,"  and,  If  rumor  can  be  credited,  it  was  owing  to  the  ad- 
vice and  Insistence  of  our  own  Washington  Irving  that  we  are  Indebted 
primarily  for  the  story,  the  young  author  questioning  whether  he  could 
properly  paint  the  difference  In  the  characters  of  the  two  great  cardinals. 
And  It  Is  not  surprising  that  James  should  have  hesitated;  he  had  been 
eminently  successful  in  giving  to  the  world  the  portrait  of  Richelieu  as  a. 
man,  and  by  attempting  a  similar  task  with  Wolsey  as  the  theme,  was 
much  like  tempting  fortune.  Irving  insisted  that  "Darnley"  came  natur- 
ally In  sequence,  and  this  opinion  being  supported  by  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
the  author  set  about  the  work. 

As  a  historical  romance  "Darnley"  Is  a  book  that  can  be  taken  up 
pleasurably  again  and  again,  for  there  Is  about  it  that  subtle  charm  which 
those  who  are  strangers  to  the  worka  of  G.  P.  R.  James  have  claimed  wa* 
only  to  be  Imparted  by  Dumas. 

If  there  was  nothing  more  about  the  work  to  attract  especial  attention, 
the  account  of  the  meeting  of  the  kings  on  the  historic  "field  of  the  cloth  of 
cold"  would  entitle  the  story  to  the  most  favorable  consideration  of  every 
reader. 

There  Is  really  but  little  pure  romance  In  this  story,  for  the  author  ha* 
taken  care  to  imagine  love  passages  only  between  those  whom  history  ha* 
credited  with  having  entertained  the  tender  passion  one  for  another,  and 
it«  succeeds  In  making  such  lovers  aa  all  the  world  must  love. 

CAPTAIN  BRAND,  OP  THE  SCHOONER  CENTIPEDE.  By  t,!eut. 
Henry  A.  Wise,  U.  S.  N.  (Harry  Gringo).  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

The  re-publication  of  this  story  will  please  those  lovers  of  sea  yarn* 
•who  delight  in  so  much  of  the  salty  flavor  of  the  ocean  as  can  come  through 
the  medium  of  a  printed  page,  for  never  has  a  story  of  the  sea  and  those 
"who  go  down  in  ships"  been  written  by  one  more  familiar  with  the  scene* 
depicted. 

The  one  book  of  this  gifted  author  which  is  best  remembered,  and  which 
•will  be  read  with  pleasure  for  many  years  to  come.  Is  "Captain  Brand," 
who,  aa  the  author  states  on  his  title  page,  was  a  "pirate  of  eminence  in 
the  West  Indies."  As  a  sea  story  pure  and  simple,  "Captain  Brand"  has 
never  been  excelled.,  and  as  a  story  of  piratical  life,  told  without  the  usual 
embellishments  of  blood  and  thunder,  it  has  no  equal. 

NICK  OP  THE  WOODS.  A  story  of  the  Early  Settlers  of  Kentucky.  By 
Robert  Montgomery  Bird.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.co. 

This  most  popular  novel  and  thrilling  story  of  early  frontier  life  In 
Kentucky  was  originally  published  in  the  year  1837.  The  novel,  long  out  of 
print,  had  in  Its  day  a  phenomenal  sale,  for  Its  realistic  presentation  of 
Indian  and  frontier  life  In  the  early  days  of  settlement  In  the  South,  nar- 
rated In  the  tale  with  all  the  art  of  a  practiced  writer.  A  very  charming 
love  romance  runs  through  the  story.  This  new  and  tasteful  edition  of 
"Nick  of  the  Woods"  will  be  certain  to  make  many  new  admirers  for 
this  enchanting  story  from  Dr.  Bird's  clever  and  versatile  pen. 

|»Or  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the  pub- 
lishers, A.  L.  HURT  COMPANY,  52-53  Daane  St.,  New  York. 


POPULAR  LITERATURE  FOR  THE  MASSES, 
COMPRISING  CHOICE  SELECTIONS  FROM  THE 
TREASURES  OE  THE  WORLD'S  KNOWLEDGE, 
ISSUED  IN  A  SUBSTANTIAL  AND  ATTRACTIVE 
CLOTH  BINDING,  AT  A  POPULAR  PRICE 


HURT'S  HOME  LIBRARY  is  a  scries  which 
includes  the  standard  works  of  the  world's  best  literature, 
bound  in  uniform  cloth  binding,  gilt  tops,  embracing 
chiefly  selections  from  writers  of  the  most  notable 
English,  American  and  Foreign  Fiction,  together  with 
many  important  works  in  the  domains 
of  History,  Biography,  Philosophy, 
Travel,  Poetry  and  the  Essays. 

A  glance  at  the  following  annexed 
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for  it — that  it  iz  the  most  compre- 
hensive, choice,  interesting,  and  by 
far  the  most  carefully  selected  series 
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commendation,  not  only  of  the  book  trade  throughout 
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FOWLING  PAGES] 


BURT'S  HOMF.  LIBRARY.    Cioth.    Qllt  Tops.    Price,  $1.00 


Abbe      Constantin.         BY      LUDOVIC 

HALEVY. 

Abbott,  BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Adam  Bede.  BY  GROROS  ELIOT. 
Addison's  Essays.  EDITED  BY  JOHN 

RICHARD  GREEN. 
Aeneid    of    VirgiL     TRANSLATED    BY 

JOHN  CONNINGTON. 
Aesop's  Fables. 
Alexander,    the    Great,    Life    of.     BY 

JOHN  WILLIAMS. 
Alfred,  the  Great,  Life  of.     BY  THOMAS 

HUGHES. 

Alhambra.     BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 
Alice  in  Wonderland,  and  Through  the 

Looking-G  lass.  BY  LEWIS  CARROLL 
Alice  Lorraine.  BY  R.  D.  BI.ACKMORU 
AD  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men.  BY 

WALTER  BESANT. 

Alton  Locke.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Amiel's     Journal.     TRANSLATED     BY 

MRS.  HUMPHREY  WARD. 
Andersen's  Fairy  Tales. 
Anne  of  Geirstein.     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 

Antiquary.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Arabian  Rights'  Entertainments. 
Ardath.     BY   MARIB   CORELLI. 
Arnold,  Benedict,  Life  of.     BY  GEORGE 

CANNING  HILL. 
Arnold's    Poems.        BY      MATTHEW 

ARNOLD. 
Around  the  World  in  the  Yacht  Sun- 

beam.    BY  MRS.  BRASSEY. 
Arundel     Motto.     BY     MARY     CECIL 

HAY. 
At  the  Back  of  the  Worth  Wind.     BY 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 
Attic  Philosopher.     BY    EMILB     Sou- 

VESTRE. 

Auld    Licht    Idylls.     BY    JAMES    M. 

BARRIE. 

Aunt  Diana.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Autobiography  of  Benjamin  Franklin. 
Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table.     BY 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 
Averil.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Bacon's  Essays,     BY  FRANCIS  BACON. 
Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial.     BY  ROSA 

N.  CAREY. 
Barnaby  Rudge.     BY  CHARLES  DICK- 

ENS. 
Barrack  Room  Ballads.     BY  RUDYARD 

KIPLING. 

Betrothed.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Baulah.     BY  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS. 
Black  Beauty,     BY  ANNA  SEWALL. 
Black     Dwarf.     BY      SIR      WALTER 

SCOTT. 

Black  Rock.     BY  RALPH  CONNOR. 
Black  Tulip.     BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 
Bleak  House.     BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Blitb«4ale  Romance.     BY  NATHAJWBL 


Bondman.     BY  HALL  CAINB. 

Book   of   Golden   Deeds.     BY    CHAR- 

LOTTE M.  VONCE. 
Boone,  Daniel,  Life  of.     BY  CECIL  B. 

HARTLEY. 


Bride     of     Lammermoor.     BY     SIR 

WALTER  S/OIT. 

Bride  of  the  Nile.     BY  GEORGE  EBEKS. 
Browning's    Poems.     BY    ELIZABETH 

BARRETT  BROWNING. 
Browning's      Poems.       (SELECTIONS.) 

BY  ROBERT  BROWNING. 
Bryant's  Poems.  (EARLY.)     By  WILL- 
IAM CULLEN  BRYANT. 
Burgomaster's     Wife.     BY     GEORGE 

EBERS. 

Burn's  Poems.     BY  ROBERT  BURNS. 
By  Order  of  the  King.     BY   VICTOR 

HUGO. 

Byron's  Poems.     BY  LORD  BYRON. 
Caesar,    Julius,    Life   of.     BY    JAMES 

ANTHONY  FROVDE. 
Carson,    Kit,   Life   of.     BY    CHARLES 

BURDETT. 

Gary's  Poems.  BY  ALICE  AND  PHOEBB 
CARY. 

Cast  Up  by  the  Sea.  BY  SIR  SAMUEL 
BAKER. 

Charlemagne  (Charles  the  Great),  Life 
of.  BY  THOMAS  HODGKIN.  D.  C.  L. 

Charles  Auchester.     BY  E.  BERGBR. 

Character.     BY  SAMUEL  SMILES. 

Charles  O'Malley.  BY  CHARLES 
LEVER. 

Chesterfield's  Letters.  BY  LORD  CHES- 
TERFIELD. 

Chevalier  de  Maison  Rouge.  BY 
ALBXANDRE  DUMAS. 

Chicot  the  Jester.  BY  ALEXANDRB 
DUMA*. 

Children  of  the  Abbey.  BY  REGINA 
MARIA  ROCHE. 

Child's  History  of  England.  BY 
CHARLES.  DICKENS. 

Christmas  Stories.  BY  CHARLES 
DICKENS. 

Cloister  and  the  Hearth.  BY  CHARLES 
RKADB. 

Coleridge's  Poems.  BY  SAMUEL  TAY- 
LOR COLERIDGE. 

Columbus,  Christopher,  Life  of.  BY 
WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

Companions  of  Jehu.  BY  ALEXANDRB 
DUMAS. 

Complete  Angler.  BY  WALTON-  AXD 
COTTON. 

Conduct  of  Life.  BY  RALPH  WALDO 
EMERSON. 

Confessions  of  an  Opium  Eater.  BY 
THOMAS  DE  QUINCBY. 

Conquest  of  Granada.  BY  WASHING- 
TON IRVING. 

Conscript     By  ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN. 

Conspiracy  of  Pontiac.  BY  FRANCIS 
PARKMAN.  JR. 

Conspirators.  BY  ALEXANDRB  DU- 
MAS. 

Consuelo.     BY  GEORGE  SAND. 

Cook's  Voyages.  BY  CAPTAIN  JAMES 
COOK. 

Corinne.     BY  MADAME  DB  STAKI.. 

Countess  de  Charney.  BY  ALEXANDRB 
DUMAS. 

Countess    Gisela.     BY    E.    MARUTT. 


BURT'5  HOME  LIBRARY.    Cloth.    Gilt  Tops.    Price,  $1.09 


Countess  of  Rudolstadt     BY  GEORGE 

SAND: 
Count     Robert     of     Paris.     BY     SIR 

WALTER  SCOTT. 
Country    Doctor.     BY    HONORE     DE 


Courtship  of  Miles  Standish.    BY  H.  W. 

LOKGFELLOW. 

Cousin  Maude.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Cranford.     BY  MRS.  GASKBLL. 
Crockett,  David,  Life  of.     AN  AUTOBI- 

OGRAPHY. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  Life  of.     BY  EDWIN 

PAXTON  HOOD. 
Crowa    of     Wild     Olive.     BY    JOHN 

RUSKIN' 

Crusades.  BY  GEO.  W.  Cox,  M.  A. 
Daniel  Deronda.  BY  GEORGB  ELIOT. 
Darkness  and  Daylight.  BY  MARY  J. 

HOLMES. 
Data  of  Ethics.     BY  HERBERT  SPEN- 

CER. 
Daughter   of  an   Empress,   The.     BY 

LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 
David      Copperfield.        BY     CHARLES 

DICKENS. 

Days  of  Bruce.     BY  GRACE  AGUILAR. 
Deemster,  The.     BY  HALL  CAINE. 
Deerslayer,    The.     BY    JAMES    FENI- 

MORE  COOPER. 
Descent  of  Man.     BY  CHARLES  DAR- 

WIN. 
Discourses  of  Epictetus.     TRANSLATED 

BY  GEORGE  LONG. 
Divine     Comedy.     (DANTE.)     TRANS- 

LATED BY  REV.  H.  F.  CAREY. 
Dombey  4  Son.  BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Donal  Grant.     BY  GEORGE  MACDON- 

ALD. 

Donovan.     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 
Dora  Deane.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest     BY  CHAR- 

LOTTE M.  YONGE. 
Dream  Life.     BY  IK  MARVEL. 
Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.     BY  R.  L. 

STEVENSON. 

Duty.     BY  SAMUEL  SMILES. 
Early  Days  of  Christianity.     BY  F.  W. 

FARRAR. 

East  Lynne.  BY  MRS.  HENRY  WOOD. 
Edith  Lyle's  Secret.  BY  MARY  J. 

HOLMES. 

Education.     BY  HERBERT  SPENCER. 
Egoist.     BY  GEORGE  MEREDITH. 
Egyptian    Princess.     BY    GEORGE 

EBERS. 
Eight  Hundred  Leagues  on  the  Ama- 

zon.    BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Eliot's  Poems.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Elizabeth  and  her  German  Garden. 
Elizabeth  (Queen  of  England),  Life  of. 

BY  EDWARD  SPENCER  BEESLY,  M.A. 
Elsie  Venner.     BY  OLIVER  WENDELL 

HOLMES. 
Emerson's  Essays.     (COMPLETE.)     BY 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 
Emerson's  Poems.     BY  RALPH  WALDO 

EMERSON. 
English    Orphans.      BY     MARY      J. 

HOLMES. 


English  Trait*.      BY  R.  W.  EMERSON. 
Essays     in     Criticism.     (FIRST     ..   o 

SECOND     SERIES.)    BY    MATTHEW 

ARNOLD. 

Essays  of  Elia.     BY  CHARLES  LAMB. 
Esther.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Ethelyn's     Mistake.     BY     MARY     J. 

HOLMES. 
Evangeline.     (WTTH   KOTBS.)     BY   H. 

W.  LONGFELLOW. 
Evelina.     BY  FRANCES  BURNEY. 
Fair  Maid  of  Per*.     BY  SIR  WALTEF 

SCOTT. 
Fairy  Land  of  Science.     BY  ARABELL- 

B.  BUCKLBY. 
Faust    (GOETHE.)    TRANSLATED    Tat 

ANNA  SWANWICK. 
Felix  Holt     BY  GEO  ROE  ELIOT. 
Fifteen  Decisive  Battles  of  the  World 

BY  E.  S.  CREASY. 

File  No.  113.     BY  EMJLB  GABORIAU. 
Firm  of  Girdlestone.     BY  A.   CONAN 

DOYLE. 

First  Principles.  BY  HERBERT  SPENCEH. 
First  Violin.     BY  JESSIE  FOTHERGILL. 
For  Lalias.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Fortunes  of  NigeL     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Forty-Five  Guardsmen.     BY  ALEXAN- 

DRE  DUMAS. 

Foul  Play.     BY  CHARLES  READE. 
Fragments     of     Science.     BY     JOHN 

TYNDALL. 
Frederick,    the    Great.    Life    of.    BY 

FRANCIS  KUGLER. 
Frederick  the  Great  and  His  Court     BY 

LOUISA  MUHLBACH. 
French  Revolution.     BY  THOMAS  CAR- 

LYLE. 
From  the   Earth  to   the  Moon.     BY 

JULES  VERNE. 

Garibaldi,  General,  Life  of.     BY  THEO- 
DORE DWIGHT. 
Gil  Bias,  Adventures  of.    BY  A.  R.  LE 

SAGE. 
Gold     Bug     and     Other    Tales.     BY 

EDGAR  A.  POE. 
Gold  Elsie.     BY  E.  MARLITT. 
Golden    Treasury.     BY    FRANCIS    T. 

PALGRAVE. 
Goldsmith's     Poems.       BY      OLIVER 

GOLDSMITH. 
Grandfather's  Chair.     BY  NATHANIEL! 

HAWTHORNE. 
Grant,  Ulysses  S.,  Life  of.     BY  J.  T. 

HEADLEY. 

Gray's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  GRAY. 
Great      Expectations.     BY      CHARLES 

DICKENS. 
Greek   Heroes.     Fairy   Tales   for    My 

Children.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Green  Mountain  Boys,  The.     BY  D.  P. 

THOMPSON. 
Grimm's   Household   Tales.     BY   THE 

BROTHERS  GRIMM. 
Grimm's     Popular    Tales.    BY     THB 

BROTHERS  GRIMM. 

Gulliver's  Travels.     BY  DEAN  SWIFT. 
Guy    Mannering.     BY    SIR    WALTER 

SCOTT. 


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Hale,  Nathan,  the  Martyr  Spy.  BY 
CBARLOTTB  MOLYNEUX  HOLLOWAY. 

Handy  Andy.     BY  SAMUEL  LOVER. 

Hans  of  Iceland.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian,  Life  of. 
BY  THOMAS  ARNOLD.  M.  A. 

Hardy  Norseman,  A.    BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

Harold.     BY  BULWBR-LYTTON. 

Harry  Lorrequer.    BY  CHARLES  LEVER. 

Heart  of  Midlothian.  BY  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT. 

Heir  of  Redclyfle.  BY  CHARLETTB  M. 
YONGB. 

Hemans'  Poems.  BY  MRS.  FELICIA 
HBMANS. 

Henry  Esmond.  BY  WM.  M.  THACK- 
ERAY. 

Henry,  Patrick,  Life  of.     BY  WILLIAM 

WlRT. 

Her  Dearest  Foe.  BY  MRS.  ALEXAN- 
DER. 

Hereward.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Heriot's  Choice.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Heroes     and      Hero- Worship.        BY 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 
Hiawatha.     (WITH  NOTES.)    ByH.W. 

LONGFELLOW. 
Hidden  Hand,  The.    (COMPLETE.)  BY 

MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
History    of    a    Crime.       BY    VICTOR 

HUGO. 
History  of  Civilization  in  Europe.     BY 

M.  GUIZOT. 
Holmes'  Poems.  (  EARLY)  BY  OLIVER 

WENDELL  HOLMES. 
Holy    Roman    Empire.     BY    JAMES 

BRYCE. 
Homestead  on  the  Hillside.     BY  MARY 

J.  HOLMES. 

Hood's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  HOOD. 
House     of     the     Seven    Gables.     BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 
Hunchback     of     Notre     Dame.     BY 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

Hypatia.     BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
Hyperion.     BY    HENRY    WADSWORTH 

LONGFELLOW. 

Iceland  Fisherman,     BY  PIERRE  LOTI. 
Idle  Thoughts  of  an  Idle  Fellow.     BY 

JEROME  K.  JEROME. 
Iliad,     POPE'S  TRANSLATION. 
Inez.     BY  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS. 
Ingelow's  Poems.     BY  JEAN  INGELOW. 
Initials.     BY    THB    BARONESS    TAUT- 

PHOEUS. 

Intellectual     Life.     BY     PHILIP     G. 

HAMERTON. 
In   the    Counsellor's    House.     BY    E. 

MARLITT. 
In     the     Golden     Days.     BY     EDNA 

LYALL. 
In    the    Heart    of    the    Storm.     BY 

MAXWELL  GRAY. 

In  the  Schillingscourt.     BY  E.  MAR- 
LITT. 
IshmaeL     (COMPLETE  )     BY  MRS.    E. 

D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
It  Is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mead,     BY 

CUARLBS 


Ivanhoe.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Jane  Eyre.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTB. 
efferson,     Thomas,      Life     of.     BY 

SAMUEL  M.  SCHMUCKER,  LL.D. 
Joan    of    Arc,    Life    of.     BY    JULES 

MICHELET. 
John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     BY  Miss 

MULOCK. 
Jones,  John  Paul,  Life  of.     BY  JAMBS 

OTIS. 
Joseph     Balsamo.     BY     ALBXANDRB 

DUMAS. 
Josephine,  Empress  of  France,  Life  of 

BY  FREDERICK  A.  OBER. 
Keats'  Poems.     BY  JOHN  KEATS. 
Kenilworth.     BY  SIR  WALTER  ScoTt. 
Kidnapped.     BY  R.  L.  STEVENSON. 
King  Arthur  and  His  Noble  Knights. 

BY  MARY  MACLEOD. 
Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York. 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 
Knight  Errant,     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 
Koran.    TRANSLATED      BY      GEORGB 

SALE. 
Lady  of  the  Lake.     (WITH  NOTES.)     BY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Lady  with  the  Rubies.     BY  E.  MAR- 
LITT. 
Lafayette,  Marquis  de.   Life   of.     BY 

P.  C.  HEADLEY. 
Lalla     Rookh.     (WITH     NOTES.)     BY 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

Lamplighter.     BY     MARIA     S.     CUM- 
MINS. 

Last  Days  of  Pompeii.     BY  BULWBR- 
LYTTON. 
Last   of    the   Barons.     BY    BULWER- 

LYTTON. 
Last    of    the    Mohicans.     BY    JAMBS 

FENIMORE  COOPER. 
Lay    of    the    Last    Minstrel.     (WITH 

NOTES.)     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  Life  of.     BY 

G.  MERCER  ADAM. 
Lena  Rivers.     BY  MARY  J    HOLMES 
Life   of   Christ.     BY    FREDERICK    W. 

FARRAR. 

Life  of  Jesus.     BY  ERNEST  RBNAN. 
Light     of     Asia.     BY     SIR     EDWIN 

ARNOLD 
Light    That    Failed.     BY     RUDYARD 

KIPLING. 
Lincoln,      Abraham,      Life     of.     BY 

HENRY  KETCHAM. 
Lincoln's   Speeches.     SELECTED    AND 

EDITED  BY  G.  MERCER    ADAM. 
Literature  and  Dogma.     BY  MATTHEW 

ARNOLD 

Little  Dorrit.  BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Little  Minister.  BY  JAMBS  M.  BARRIB. 
Livingstone,  David,  Life  of.  BY 

THOMAS  HUGHES 
Longfellow's  Poems.      (EARLY.)     BT 

HENRY  W    LONGFELLOW. 
Lorna  Doone.     BY  R.  D  BLACKMORB. 
Louise  de  la  VaUiere.     BY  ALEXANDRB 

DUMAS. 
Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long.    Br 

CHARLES  RJJADB. 


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Lowell's  Poems.     (EARLY.)  BY  JAMES 

RUSSELL  LOWELL. 
Lucile.     BY  OWEN  MEREDITH. 
Macaria.     BY  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS. 
Macaulay's  Literary  Essays.     BY  T.  B. 

MACAUI.AY. 
Macaulay's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS  BAB- 

INGTON  MACAULAY. 
Madame    Therese.     BY    ERCKMANN- 

CHATRIAN. 

Maggie  Miller.  BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Magic  Skin,  BY  HONORS  DS  BALZAC. 
Mahomet,  Life  of.  BY  WASHINGTON 

IRVING. 
Makers   of    Florence.     BY  MRS.  OLI- 

PHANT. 
Makers    of    Venice.     BY    MRS.    OLI- 

PHANT. 

Man  and  Wife.  BY  WILKIE  COLLINS. 
Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  BY  ALBXAN- 

DRE  DUMAS. 

Marble  Faun.     BY  NATHANIEL  HAW- 
THORNE. 
Marguerite  de  la  Valois.     BY  ALBX- 

ANDRE    DUMAS. 

Marian  Grey.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Marius,  The  Epicurian.     BY  WALTER 

PATER. 
Marmion.     (WITH    NOTES.)     BY    SIR 

WALTER  SCOTT. 
Marquis      of     Lossie.     BY      GEORGE 

MACDONALD. 
Martin     Chuzzlewit.       BY      CHARLES 

DICKENS. 
Mary,   Queen  of  Scots,   Life   of.     BY 

P.  C.  HEADLEY. 

Mary  St  John.  BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Master  of  Ballantrae,  The.  BY.  R.  L. 

STEVENSON. 
Masterman  Ready.     BY  CAPTAIN  MAR- 

RYATT. 

Meadow  Brook.  BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Meditations  of  Marcus  Aurelius. 

TRANSLATED  BY  GEORGE  LONG. 
Memoirs  of  a  Physician.     BY  ALEXAN- 

DRE  DUMAS. 

Merle's  Crusade.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Micah  Clarke.     BY  A.  CONAN  DOLYE. 
Michael  Strogoff.     BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Middlemarch.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Midshipman  Easy.     BY  CAPTAIN  MAR- 

RYATT 

Mildred.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Millbank.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Mill  on  the  Floss.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Milton's  Poems.     BY  JOHN  MILTON. 
Mine  Own  People.     BYRUDYARDKIP- 

LING. 

Minister's  Wooing,  The.     BY  HARRIET 

BEECHER  STOWE. 

Monastery.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Moonstone.     BY   WILKIE   COLLINS. 
Moore's  Poems.     BY  THOMAS   MOORB 
Mosses    from    an     Old     Manse.     BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 
Murders    in    the    Rue    Morgue.     BY 

EDGAR  ALLEN  POE. 
Mysterious  Island.     BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  Life  of.     BY  P. 

C.  HBADI.BY. 


Napoleon  and   His   Marshals.     BY  J. 

T.  HEADLEY. 
Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World. 

BY  HENRY  DRUMMOND. 
Narrative  of  Arthur  Gordon  Pym.     BY 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 
Nature,  Addresses  and  Lectures.     BY 

R.  W.  EMERSON. 
Nellie's     Memories.    BY     ROSA     N. 

CAREY. 
Nelson,  Admiral  Horatio,  Life  of.     BY 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 
Newcomes.     BY  WILLIAM  M.  THACK 

ERAY. 

Nicholas  Nickleby.  BY  CHAS.  DICK- 
ENS. 

Ninety-Three.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 
Not  Like  Other  Girls.     BY  ROSA  N. 

CAREY. 

Odyssey.     POPE'S  TRANSLATION. 
Old     Curiosity    Shop.     BY     CHARLBS 

DICKENS. 
Old  Mam'selle's  Secret.     BY  E.  MAR- 

LITT. 

Old     Mortality.     BY     SIR     WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Old    Myddleton's    Money.     BY    MARY 

CECIL  HAY. 

Oliver  Twist.     BY  CHAS.  DICKENS. 
Only    the    Governess.     BY    ROSA    N. 

CARBY. 
On     the     Heights.     BY     BERTHOLD 

AUERBACH. 

Oregon  Trail.  BY  FRANCIS  PARK- 
MAN. 

Origin  of  Species.  BY  CHARLES 
DARWIN. 

Other  Worlds  than  Ours.  BY  RICH- 
ARD PROCTOR. 

Our  Bessie.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 

Our  Mutual  Friend.  BY  CHARLES 
DICKENS. 

Outre-Mar.     BY  H.  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

Owl's  Nest     BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Page  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy.  BY 
ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  BY  THOMAS 
HARDY. 

Pan    Michael.      BY    HENRYK    SIEN- 

KIEWICZ. 

Past   and   Present.     BY   THOS.    CAR- 

LYLE. 

Pathfinder.     BY     JAMES      FENIMORI 

COOPER. 
Paul    and    Virginia.     BY    B.    DE    ST 

PIERRE. 
Pendennis.  History  of.     BY   WM.  M. 

THACKERAY. 

Penn,  William,  Life  of.  BY  W.  HEP- 
WORTH  DlXON. 

Pere  Goriot.     BY  HONORS  DE  BALZAC. 
Peter,  the  Great,  Life  of.     BY  JOHN 

BARROW. 
Peveril  of  the  Peak.     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Phantom   Rickshaw,   The.     BY   RUD- 

YARD  KIPLING. 

Philip  \L.  of  Spain,  Life  of.     BY  MAR. 
.       TIN  A.  S.  HUMB. 
v  Piccioia.    BY  X,  B.  SJUNTIHB, 


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Pickwick  Papers.     BY  CHARLES  DICK- 
ENS. 

Pilgrim's  Progress.    BY  JOHN  BUNYAN 
Pillar  of  Fire.     BY  REV.  J.  H.  INGRA- 

HAM. 

Pilot.     BY  JAMBS  FENIMORB  COOPER. 
Pioneers.       BY      JAMBS      FBNIMORB 

COOPBR. 

Pirate.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills.     BY  RUD- 

YARD  KIPLING. 
Plato's  Dialogues.    TRANSLATED  BY  J. 

WRIGHT.  M.  A. 
Pleasures    of    Life.     BY    SIR    JOHN 

LUBBOCK. 

Poe's  Poems.     BY  EDGAR  A.  POE. 
Pope's  Poems.     BY  ALEXANDER  POPB. 
Prairie.     BY  JAMES  F.  COOPER. 
Pride  and  Prejudice.     BY  JANE  Aus- 

TBN. 

Prince  of  the  House  of  David.     BY 

REV.  J.  H    INGRAHAM. 
Princess  of  the  Moor.     BvE.  MARLITT. 
Princess     of     Thule.    BY     WILLIAM 

BLACK. 

Procter's  Poems.     BY  ADELAIDE  PROC- 
TOR. 
Professor  at  the  Breakfast  Table.     BY 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 
Professor.     BY    CHARLOTTE    BRONTB. 
Prue   and   I.     BY   GEORGE    WILLIAM 

CURTIS. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.     BY  CHAS. 

READS. 
Putnam,  General  Israel,  Life  of     BY 

GEORGE  CANNING  HILL. 
Queen  Hortense.     BY  LOUISA  MUHL- 

BACH. 

8ueenie's  Whim.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
ueen's    Necklace.     BY    ALEXANURE 

DUMAS. 
Quentin  Durward.     BY   SIR   WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Rasselas,    History    of.     BY    SAMUEL 

JOHNSON. 

Redgauntlet.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Red    Rover.     BY    JAMES    FENIMORE 

COOPER. 
Regent's  Daughter.     BY  ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 

Reign  of  Law.     BY  DUKE  o?  ARGYLE. 
Representative      Hen.       BY      RALPH 

WALDO  EMERSON. 
Republic  of   Plato.     TRANSLATED    BY 

DAVIBS  AND  VAUGHAN. 
Return   of   the   Native.     BY   THOMAS 

HARDY. 

Reveries  of  a  Bachelor.     BY  IK  MAR- 
VEL. 
Reynard  the  Fox.     EDITED  BY  JOSEPH 

JACOBS. 

Rienzi.     BY  BULWER-LYTTON. 
Richelieu,     Cardinal,     Life     of.     BY 

RICHARD  LODGE. 

Robinson  Crusoe.     BY  DANIEL  DEFOE. 
Rob  Roy.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Romance  of  Natural  History.     BY  P. 

H.  GOSSE. 
Romance  of  Two  Worlds.     BY  MARIE 

CORBLLI. 


Romola.     BY  GEOROB  ELIOT. 
Rory  O'More.     BY  SAMUEL  LOVER. 
Rose  Mather.     BY  MARY  J.  HOLMES. 
Rossetti's  Poems.     BY  GABRIEL  DANTB 

ROSSETTJ. 
Royal     Edinburgh.     BY     MRS.     OLI. 

PHANT. 

Rutledge.     BY  MIRIAN  COLES  HARRIS. 
Saint  Michael     BY  E.  WERNBR. 
Samantha    at   Saratoga.     BY   JOSIAB 

ALLER'S   WIPE.     (MARIETTA   HOL- 

LEY.) 
Sartor   Resartus.     BY    THOMA.S    CAR 

LYLE. 

Scarlet  Letter.     BY  NATHAKIBL  HAW 

HORNE. 

Schonberg-Cotta    Family.     BY    MRS. 

ANDREW  CHARLES. 
Schopenhauer's  Essays.     TRANSLATED 

BY  T.  B.  SAUNDERS. 
Scottish  Chiefs.     BY  JAMB  PORTER. 
Scotfs     Poems.     BY     SIR     WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Search     for     Basil     Lyndhurst.     BY 

ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Second  Wife.     BY  E.  MARLITT. 
Seekers  After  God.     BY  F.  W.  FARRAR. 
Self-Help.     BY  SAMUEL  SMILES. 
Self-Raised.     (COMPLETE.)     BY    MRS. 

E.  D.  E    N.  SOUTHWORTH. 
Seneca's  Morals. 
Sense     and     Sensibility.     BY     JANS 

AUSTEN. 
Sentimental  Journey.     BY  LAWRENCE 

STERNE. 

Sesame  and  Lilies.  BY  JOHN  RUSKIN. 
Shakespeare's  Heroines.  BY  ANNA 

JAMESON. 
Shelley's  Poems.     BY  PERCY  BYSSHB 

SHELLEY. 

Shirley.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 
Sign    of    the    Four.     BY    A.  CONAN 

DOYLE. 

Silas  Marner.     BY  GEORGE  ELIOT. 
Silence  of  Dean  Maitland.     BY  MAX- 
WELL GRAY. 

Sir  Gibbie.  BY  GEORGE  MACDONALD 
Sketch  Book.  BY  WASHINGTON  IRV 

ING. 
Smith,  Captain  John,  Life  of.     BY  W. 

GILMORB  SIMMS. 
Socrates,  Trial  and  Death  of.     TRANS- 

LATED  BY  F.  J.  CHURCH,  M.  A. 
Soldiers   Three.     BY    RUDYARD    KIP- 
LING. 

Springhaven.  BY  R.  D.  BLACKMORE. 
Spy.  BY  JAMES  FENIMORB  COOPER. 
Stanley,  Henry  M.,  African  Explorer, 

Life  of.     BY  A.  MONTEPIORB. 
Story  of  an  African  Farm.     BY  OLIVB 

SCHRP.INER. 
Story  of  John  G.  Paton.    TOLD  FOR 

YOUNG     FOLKS.     BY     REV.     JAS. 

PATON. 
St.   Ronan's  Well.     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Study    in    Scarlet     BY     A.     CONAN 

DOYLB. 


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Surgeon's  Daughter.     BY  SIR  WALTER 

SCOTT. 
Swinburne's  Poems.     BY  A.  C.  S\YIN- 

BURNB. 

Swiss    Family    Robinson.     BY    JBAN 

RUDOLPH  WYSS. 
Taking  the  Bastile.     BY  ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Tale     of     Two     Cities.     BY     CHAS. 

DICKENS. 
Tales   from   Shakespeare.     BY    CHAS. 

AND  MARY  LAMB. 
Tales  of  a  Traveller.     BY  WASHINGTON 

IRVING. 

Talisman.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Tanglewood    Tales.     BY    NATHANIEL 

HAWTHORNE. 
Tempest  and  Sunshine.     BY  MARY  J. 

HOLMES. 
Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room.     BY  T.  S. 

ARTHUR. 

Tennyson's  Poems.     BY  ALFRED  TEN- 
NYSON. 
Ten    Years   Later.     BY    ALEXANDER 

DUMAS. 
Terrible    Temptation.     BY     CHARLES 

READE. 
Thaddeus     of     Warsaw.     BY     JANE 

PORTER. 

Thelma.     BY  MARIE  CORELLI. 
Thirty   Years'   War.     BY    FREDERICK 

SCHILLER. 
Thousand    Miles    Up    the    Rile.     BY 

AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS. 
Three    Guardsmen.     BY    ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Three  Men  in  a  Boat.     BY  JEROME  K. 

JEROME. 

Thrift.     BY  SAMUEL  SMILES. 
Throne    of    David.     BY    REV.    J.    H. 

INGRAHAM. 

Toilers  of  the  Sea.     BY  VICTOR  HUGO 
Tom  Brown  at  Oxford.     BY  THOMAS 

HUGHES. 
Tom     Brown's     School     Days.     BY 

THOS.  HUGHES. 
Tom  Burke  of  "Ours."     BY  CHARLES 

LEVER. 
Tour  of  the  World  in  Eighty  Days. 

BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Treasure  Island.     BY  ROBERT  Louis 

STEVENSON. 
Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Under  the 

Sea.     BY  JULES  VERNE. 
Twenty  Years  After.     BY  ALEXANDRE 

DUMAS. 
Twice    Told    Tales.     BY    NATHANIEL 

HAWTHORNE. 
Two  Admirals.     BY  JAMES  FENIMORE 

COOPBR. 

Two  Dianas.     BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 
Two  Years  Before  the  Mast.     BY  R.  II. 

DANA,  Jr. 

TJarda.     BY  GEORGE  EBERS. 
Uncle  Max.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 
Uncle    Tom's    Cabin.     BY    HARRIET 

BEECHER  STOWB. 
Under  Two  Flags.    BY  "OUJDA."   T 


Utopia.     BY  SIR  THOMAS  MORE. 

Vir.Uy  Fair.     BY  WM.  M.  THACKERAY. 

Vendetta.     BY  MARIE  CORELLI. 

Vespucius,  Americus,  Life  and  Voyages. 
BY  C.  EDWARDS  LESTER. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield.  BY  OLIVER 
GOLDSMITH. 

Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.  BY  ALEX- 
ANDRE  DUMAS. 

Views  A-Foot     BY  BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

Villette.     BY  CHARLOTTE  BRONTE. 

Virginians.     BY  WM.  M.  THACKERAY. 

Walden.     BY  HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

Washington,  George,  Life  of.  BY 
JARED  SPARKS. 

Washington  and  His  Generals.  BY  J. 
T.  HEADLEY. 

Water  Babies.  BY  CHARLES  KINGS- 
LEY. 

Water  Witch.  BY  JAMES  FENI- 
MORE COOPER. 

Waverly.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Webster,  Daniel,  Life  of.  BY  SAMUEL 
M.  SCHMUCKER,  LL.D. 

Webster's  Speeches.  (SELECTED.) 
BY  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

Wee  Wine.     BY  ROSA  N.  CAREY. 

Westward  Ho!  BY  CHARLES  KINGS- 
LEY. 

We  Two.     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

What's  Mine's  Mine.  BY  GEORGE 
MACDONALD. 

When  a  Man's  Single.  BY  J.  M. 
BARRIE. 

White  Company.  BY  A.  CONAN 
DOYLE. 

Whites  and  the  Blues.  BY  ALEX- 
ANDRB  DUMAS. 

Whittier's  Poems.  (EARLY.)  BY  JOHN 
G.  WHITTIER. 

Wide,  Wide  World.  BY  SUSAN  WAR- 
NER. 

William,  the  Conqueror,  Life  of.  BY 
EDWARD  A.  FREEMAN,  LL.D. 

William,  the  Silent,  Life  of.  BY 
FREDERICK  HARRISON. 

Willy  Reilly.  BY  WILLIAM  CARLE- 
TON. 

Window  in  Thrums.     BY  J.  M.  BARRIE 

Wing  and  Wing.  BY  JAMES  FENI- 
MORE COOPER. 

Wolsey,  Cardinal,  Life  of.  BY  MAN- 
DELL  CREIGHTON. 

Woman  in  White.  BY  WILKIE  COL- 
LINS. 

Won  by  Waiting.     BY  EDNA  LYALL. 

Wonder  Book.  FOR  BOTS  AND 
GIRLS.  BY  NATHANIEL  HAW- 
THORNE. 

Woodstock.     BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Wooed  and  Married.  BY  ROSA  N. 
CAREY. 

Wooing  O't.     BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 

Wordsworth's  Poems.  BY  WILLIAM 
WORDSWOK.TH. 

Wormwood.     BY  MARIE  CORELLI. 

Wrecjc  of  the  Grosvenor.  BY  W. 
CLARK  RUSSELL. 


lllllllllil  111  II  Mi"  ••'"••' 

A     000040516     7 


